


In the Eye of the Suns

by underneath_the_africanskies



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Star Wars Setting, Bounty Hunters, Gen, Jedi, Jedi War, KOTOR setting, M/M, Mandalorian Wars, there are side ships but they don't have prominence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-22
Updated: 2016-01-16
Packaged: 2018-03-31 16:38:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 11
Words: 33,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3985201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/underneath_the_africanskies/pseuds/underneath_the_africanskies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Republic unstable. The Jedi Order split and under threat of collapse. The deafening cry of a race that burn all before them to ashes. An Empire forgotten to time stirs in the shadows, its agents infiltrating every level of society. </p><p>Armin Arlert believed in few things: his skill with a blaster, the ability of a hyperdrive and that the galaxy was ruthless to all those who let it. He'd make his own way though this mess on his own, the Force be damned.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The Star Wars AU that nobody asked for.  
> This is set juuuust before the Mandalorian Wars, and is thus 4, 000 years before the Star Wars movies. It uses the Knights of the Old Republic setting.  
> Comments are welcome! Constructive criticism is welcome!  
> I have a tumblr! http://crashes-to-desktop.tumblr.com/  
> I still haven`t figured out how to imbed URLs , but I will one day. For now, copy/paste is your friend :P  
> I am always open to asks and/or theories. My favourite thing to do is talk about SnK, so drop me a line in my ask box if you want!  
> Tagged as Jearmin because Jearmin will happen.

The Outer Rim of the galaxy was named so because of how far it was from the centre of the galaxy. The distance from the Republic made it a breeding ground for crime and slavery. Overall, was not known as a very nice place to live: wars were constant, and the threat of invasion from warrior proud races was high.

Tatooine laid in the Outer Rim, a desolate planet, featuring nothing but sand, unbearable heat and one city of note, a dangerous one at that. Anchorage was the archetypal Outer Rim city: rife with poverty, a centre of the slave trade and, worse still, run by the Hutts, a race of notorious gangsters. It was certainly not first in line as the premium destination to raise a family.

Yet Armin's ancestors had decided centuries ago to place their stake there, settling in the middle of nowhere, hours away from Anchorage.

 _It could be worse_ , Armin mused as he pulled his head wrappings closer to his eyes to shield them from the sun. _B_ _ut not much worse_. They could have been placed on the other side of the planet. He knew there were farmers living in the most barren areas of the planet, people whom had never even seen Anchorage, or crowds larger than fifty people. Anchorage was a hole, but it had people and the biggest space port in the system.

The only contact the isolated farmers had was that of the Sand People, an ancient race that were there when humans had arrived, and were probably going to remain until long after the humans had given up on the sand and heat and left. Unfortunately for them, the Sand People were often hostile.

Armin's family were some of the first human settlers on Tatooine. They arrived to find tribes of Sand People, peaceful at first but quickly turning violent when the humans assembled their drilling machines and mining equipment. Typical of humans, the settlers were convinced that a barren rock like Tatooine held hidden treasures beneath the dunes. Anchorage was established, and the entire planet was combed for minerals that, if they existed, eluded the mining companies. After several centuries and catastrophic losses in terms of both finances and human life, the planet was largely abandoned. Several families remained, however, including Armin's ancestors who saw the potential of an outpost in the Outer Rim, and a steady supply of water was one of the things desperately needed on the desert planet.

Moisture farming was largely profitable simply because of the necessity. It was one of the needs of many of the different alien species in the galaxy, and so there was always business. Providing a steady stream of water to the only settlement on the planet was a career that could provide for a family for generations.

Provide it did, but it was not without its dangers. The remote locations required for water farming meant that attacks from Sand People were a very real reality. Many families were wiped out in a single raid. The Arlert family had entered into a pact with the nearby Sand People tribes soon after settling. The Arlert family would provide them with all the water they needed, whilst the Sand People would not only abstain from attacking the family, but they would help with protecting them from other predators of the planet.

As such, Armin`s family had a comfortable relationship with the local tribes, something which other water farmers resented. Constant battles, credits spent on security for their farms and the threat of a raid was a daily part of life as a water farmer that the Arlert family simply didn`t have to think about. A consequence of this is that they found themselves rather isolated from their compatriots.

As a result of this isolation, the only company Armin had as a child was that of his parents and, very rarely, that of the children of the Sand People, though that was not an acquaintanceship as much as curiosity and mutual respect.

It was a lonely existence, and he spent most of his days helping on his parents’ farm, cleaning, and repairing the worker droids when he grew old enough. He loved his family, but the loneliness he felt was a constant ache that couldn't be wished away. The droids were boring, and he had no one to play with. He took solace in the holograms his parents bought for him, projecting stories of mighty heroes and epic battles in places that seemed so very far away. The galaxy seemed so vast and, as he grew older, he began to resent the fact that his destiny was to be a farmer when there was so much more for him out there, beyond the ball of dust.

Their biannual visits to Anchorage were the saving grace to the monotony. Anchorage was large, Anchorage was exciting but, most importantly, Anchorage had people. People from all over the galaxy could be found there and, despite his mother's insistence that it was too dangerous for little blonde human boys to be wandering the markets unsupervised, that's just what Armin did as soon as they entered the gates.

It was that day when, at the age of six, Armin first saw the Jedi. Hours spent watching holovids and stories of their heroism did not prepare him for the moment. It was odd, he thought, that they looked so harmless and, well… normal. He had done his usual task of ditching his mom and escaping into the market, when he ran straight into one.

Eyes wide, he took in the sight of the very tall stranger in front of him, dressed in unassuming robes of brown, simple boots of cloth and face covered with a hood pulled low. The stranger looked down at the child who had just run into him, knelt to the boy's eye level, and pulled back his hood, revealing a young man with blonde hair, blue eyes and a strong jawline. The man smiled, softening his harsh features, and Armin smiled nervously back, forgetting that the man could not see it under his traditional wrappings and hood.

“Hello,” the man said kindly. “What`s your name?” he asked.

“Armin,” he replied, remembering his manners. He had practiced for this moment, he knew how to make people like him.

“Armin, it`s nice to meet you.” The man said, pleasantly. Despite the throngs of people around them, he seemed comfortable holding a crouched conversation with a six year old in the middle of a crowded market.

He held out his hand, and Armin shook it with confidence as his parents had taught him.

“What`s your name?” Armin asked, suddenly panicking as he said it. Was it rude to ask for an adult`s name?

“I`m Erwin,” the man replied, and Armin was relieved to see amusement twinkling in his eyes. “Tell me, Armin, where are your parents?” he asked, and Armin felt a rush of guilt. He looked at the floor. “Shopping`s boring,” he muttered, and was surprised to hear Erwin chuckle.

“Well, why don`t we look for her together?” he asked Armin. He must`ve caught the reluctance in his eyes. “She`s probably very worried about you,” he added, and Armin felt crushed with guilt once more. “Okay,” he said, looking up. Erwin smiled, turned his head, and called someone over.

A young Twi`lek girl approached, only a few years older than Armin. She was dressed in the same style as Erwin.

“This is Mikasa, my apprentice,” he introduced. Armin`s eyes widened, recognizing the title. “Are you a Jedi?” he asked. Mikasa answered. “I`m not one, yet,” she pointed at Erwin, “but he is,” she declared.

Armin turned his eyes back to Erwin. “Can I be a Jedi?” he begged. “Farming`s boring.”

“Being a Jedi is pretty boring, too,” Mikasa muttered. Erwin rolled his eyes at Mikasa playfully, and Armin was starkly reminded of his relationship with his own parents.

“Please,” he said again, trying to get the pair back on topic. This was his chance, he just knew it.

Erwin smiled kindly, and Armin knew what the answer would be. “Being a Jedi isn`t a life for everybody,” he explained, his voice gentle. Armin frowned. “What do you mean?” he asked.

His mother chose that moment to find them. She gasped when she saw Armin, scooping him up in her arms and scolding him. Mikasa stared up at him stoically, her face hiding any thought or feeling. Erwin stood up from his crouch, standing nearly a head taller than Armin`s mother.

“Thank you for keeping him safe, sir Jedi,” she gushed, holding Armin close. His face was squashed against her shoulder and he felt hot and sticky from the contact. “Mom,” he whined, wiggling. She softened her grip when she realised he wasn`t going to try to leap from her arms.

“Armin, if I let you go will you run off and try to join the Jedi?” she asked him, a smile in her voice.

He relented. “No, Mommy. I love you.” He turned his face to look back to Erwin.

“The Jedi aren`t for me,” he told Erwin seriously. “That`s fine,” he said, inclining his head. He addressed Armin`s mother. “You have a very bright boy.”

“I know,” she said, shifting so Armin could see Erwin easily.

“It was nice meeting you, Armin,” Erwin said, giving him a wave goodbye. Armin waved back, suddenly feeling shy in his mother's arms. “Bye,” he said, and buried his head in his mother's shoulder, enjoying the comfort despite the heat.

He didn`t see the flash of pain on Apprentice Mikasa`s face she said goodbye to the pair, turning around to follow Erwin, disappearing into the crowd as if they had never existed.

 

* * *

 

It had been a minor event, a blip in his life. He did not become a Jedi, and the layers of childhood innocence were peeled back to reveal a cynical pre-teen who believed the only thing he was destined for was repairing broken droids and monitoring water metres, everything he did was tainted with bitterness. The only interest in his life was shooting practice, where he would take his grandfather's old blaster and shoot at cans and old droid parts that were beyond repair. It was purely a distraction; had no interest in hunting, and the Sand People took care of any dangerous predators in the area. He supposed there was some satisfaction in shooting a difficult target, but the euphoria was limited and lasted for as long as it took to set up the next target.

He lived for the thought of swoop racing. Swoop racing was fast, dangerous and a relatively new sport. Tatooine was not yet a popular swoop destination, but a Hutt in Anchorage seemed determined to turn Tatooine into a premier swoop racing course, the immense dunes being perfect for racing.

Armin formulated a plan to build a bike, find sponsorship and enter as many tournaments as he could, even if they were all on planet. He was a realist, he knew it was highly unlikely he could win enough money to get himself off the most boring rock in the galaxy, and even if he could he was bound to the planet by the fact that he was the only heir to the moisture farm.

Still, Armin liked to fall asleep to dreams of winning a vast sum of money, wealth that could buy him passage to any planet he wanted in the galaxy. Pretty Naboo, with its massive lakes and beautiful fields, Alderaan, the cultural heart of the galaxy, Coruscant, the planet that was covered by a single city, the centre of human development, the galaxy and home to the Jedi Order.

It was a pretty dream, but nothing more. He accepted that he would stay on this red planet forever, drowning in sand, shades of brown and red, burning beneath the gaze of the Twin Suns.

He flicked the water gauge with his fingers, bored. It was the middle of the day, and he'd been there for hours. His father would arrive soon, and Armin hoped he would bring his holovids to help pass the time. He thought of the weekend, they would be taking one of their trips to Anchorage for supplies. He could barely wait, he longed for something to look at other than the desert. The Twin Suns burnt mercilessly, as they did each day, and Armin pulled his hood lower on his face to protect his sensitive eyes. He was dressed in full traditional human desert garb: Loose robes, loose pants, wrappings around his feet, lower legs and hands. He wore a hood, which protected his face from the worst of the sun, his face hidden by wrappings across the lower half of his face, ending just under his eyes.

His clothes were the colour of sand, light browns and deep reds, because apparently there wasn't enough of those colours on this planet. He kicked the sand irritably, dust catching the wind and swirling around him like a tiny sandstorm.

He blinked, pulling his hood back slightly and squinting at the sky. The Suns hung low in the sky, his father was later than he thought. Where was he?

Hours past, and Armin began to feel himself panicking. He considered just leaving in his landspeeder and going to look for him, but he couldn`t leave valuable equipment and droids unsupervised in the open desert. He squinted into the distance, praying his father would appear on the horizon, laughing sheepishly about getting lost and offering to buy Armin something in Anchorage that weekend to make up for abandoning him in the desert all day.

It was around sunset when Armin made the decision to pack up what he could and make his way home. He was trying to convince a particularly stubborn droid to get onto the landspeeder (quietly thinking it was time to give it a memory wipe) when he saw it. A figure in the distance, flying across the sand at great speed towards him. He felt his stomach drop, and knew that it wasn`t his father. His father would never travel at that speed. It was definitely not a Sand Person, either. They didn`t travel alone.

Whatever it was, it seemed to have noticed him and made a beeline towards him. He glanced at his speeder filled with grumbling droids and parts of equipment, and quickly realised running would be futile. The odds were it was hostile, they were too far into Sand People territory for it to be a friendly force. He swore, and pulled out his old blaster. He doubted he could do any serious damage with the thing, but maybe he could buy himself some time…

He pressed the scope to his eye, focusing on his target which was approaching steadily. He placed his finger on the trigger, but didn`t shoot. On the speeder was a teenage boy, not much older than him. That was a surprise, and Armin found his curiosity rise. Maybe the boy had gotten lost, or needed help. He elected to wait, lowering the blaster but keeping his finger on the trigger, just in case.

The speeder slowed down as it approached, and its owner parked it close by.

“Hello?” Armin called, his voice sounding as confident as he felt.

The boy waved, jumped off the speeder and walked over. He wasn`t much taller than Armin, and around the same age. He wore heavy robes that were highly impractical for the desert, and they were covered in sand, a fact that seemed to frustrate the boy. His skin was dark with tan, his hair a dark chestnut, his bright green eyes contrasting sharply with the rest of his features. He pulled off his hood to reveal a short braid. Armin`s heart leapt as he recognized it. The boy was a Padawan.

“What`s a Padawan doing all the way out here?” he asked cautiously, grateful for his low hood and face wraps, feeling like they gave him an added level of security.

The Padawan frowned.

“Sorry, I`m not used to your accent. Are you a farmer?” he asked.

Armin felt a flash of irritation. He nodded in lieu of speaking. The Padawan grinned.

“You will answer my questions,” he said with confidence, waving his hand.

Armin raised an eyebrow. “Um, I`d first like to know what a Padawan is doing out here on his own.”

The Padawan in question frowned and muttered something under his breath. He repeated his question, adding more force to his voice.

Armin sighed, his irritation growing. “Look, I don`t care if you`re part of some order that can use magic or whatever, could you please just answer my question?”

“It`s not magic, it`s the Force,” the Padawan retorted.

“The Force, then” Armin corrected himself.

A distant boom sounded. Eren looked back in the direction of the sound nervously.

“Shit, I don`t have time for this,” he muttered, then looked back at Armin.

“Hi, I`m Eren,” he gave a small wave by ways of saying “hello”, “Clearly, you know I`m a Padawan. I`m from the Order`s training facility on Dantooine. I`m a part of a force that was tasked with trying to prevent the Mandalorians from taking over this,” he gestured behind him at the setting Suns, “system. We failed.” He said bluntly. Armin blinked at him. “Wait, what do you mean, you failed?” he asked, horror gripping his throat as he thought about his father who never arrived.

“We failed,” Eren repeated. “When we arrived, they shot us down. Anchorage was crawling with troops and all the surrounding farms were taken over. Who knows what happened to the farmers. I got separated from my master and I`ve been traversing this stupid desert all day. I need to get back to him. Can you help me?”

Armin felt as though his wits had left him. He stared blankly at the Padawan.

A moment passed.

“Oi,” Eren waved his hand in front of Armin`s face. “We don`t have time for this. I need you to concentrate. Do you know the area?”

Armin blinked, then nodded, not trusting his voice.

Eren smiled, pleased. “Great. Do you know anyone who could help me get to a ship?”

Armin thought. “No,” he said.

Eren smacked himself on his forehead. “Wonderful,” he muttered.

“But,” Armin said, his mind finally working again, “if you can take me to my family`s farm so I can warn them, I can get you to your master. He`d be outside the city, no? Probably with one of the outlying farms…” he surmised, thinking out loud.

Eren looked at him curiously. Armin shifted uncomfortably under the stare, feeling like Eren was pulling him apart with his eyes alone. He reminded himself that Eren could only see a hooded boy, even his eyes weren`t in view.

“What`s your name?” Eren asked.

“Armin,”

“Armin what?”

“Armin Arlert,” he replied.

Eren stuck out his hand. “Nice to meet you Armin,” he said. Armin was struck with a sense of déjà vu as he shook hands with the second Jedi he had met.

Eren nodded towards his speeder. “Hop on,” he ordered, pulling his hood back up. Armin looked at the land speeder filled with droids and equipment, then decided they were probably safer in the middle of the desert than in a farm, which was apparently now a target.

“Which way are we going?” Eren asked. Armin pointed in the direction of the Sand People enclave, away from the setting Suns. “Drive away from the Suns,” he clarified.

The Padawan nodded in understanding.

He sat on the speeder behind Eren, and tightly held onto his waist as they sped off.

“Who are the Mandalorians?” Armin shouted into Eren`s closest ear.

He took a moment to answer. Armin almost thought he didn`t understand again, when Eren replied. “I`ll explain later,” leaving Armin in the dark.

They sped away from the Suns for a while, until they reached Armin`s farm. Smoke was rising from it, and Armin already knew before they had even reached his childhood home.

“Shit,” Eren muttered as he stopped the speeder shortly before the farm. There were troops stationed outside, dressed in full body armour that hid their faces. Armin leaned over the side of the speeder, pulled down his lower face wrappings and vomited. Eren waited, eyes fixed at the sight of Armin`s ruined childhood home.

“I have to…” Armin muttered, stumbling off the side of the speeder and onto his knees. “I have to help them,” he muttered, tears pouring down his face as he sat uselessly in the desert sand, the last of the day`s heat pouring onto him, cruel and merciless. Armin glanced up at the Padawan on the speeder. “You… you can help them, right? Jedi… Jedi can do anything.”

He watched as the Padawan with vivid green eyes got off his speeder and crouched next to him. His answer was clear enough when he put his hand on the desert boy`s back and rubbed reassuring circles, with a whispered and gentle “I`m sorry.”

A moment passed. “My Master`s here,” he said, softly. “You were right.” Armin raised his head to look at Eren. “Huh?”

“I can sense his presence,” Eren explained. His explanation didn`t really mean anything to Armin. He wiped his mouth and lifted his lower face wrappings over his nose.

“Then let`s go to him,” he muttered. He could feel shock slowly take over his body, could feel his emotions shutting down one by one. He hated it. He didn`t want to feel lifeless.

If Eren noticed anything, he didn`t say. They made their way around the farm, barely crossing the outskirts to avoid detection. Armin found himself in the cave he had played in as a child. He didn`t allow himself to hope his family was with the Jedi, and wasn`t surprised to see they weren`t.

He was surprised, however, to come face to face with the same Jedi Knight he had met as a child, along with the Twi`lek apprentice, Mikasa, who was wearing the same Padawan robes as Eren..

“Eren!” the Jedi exclaimed, clearly surprised that Eren had just waltzed into their hiding place. Eren smiled grimly at his teacher. Erwin nodded at Armin. “Who is this?”

Eren glanced at Armin, who stared at the floor.

“A farmer`s child,” Eren explained. Armin bristled. “I`m the same age as you,” he mumbled. Eren elected to ignore him, and pointed to the entrance of the cave. “He led me here. His family is dead and his home is gone.”

“I see,” Erwin glanced at Armin, whose eyes darted back to the floor. He didn`t enjoy being scrutinized.

“What`s your name?”

Armin decided he was sick of this song and dance. He raised his head. “I`m Armin Arlert, I`m eleven years old, and we`ve met before,” he stared at Erwin, despite knowing there was no possible way Erwin could have recognized him beneath the layers of clothing.

Much to his surprise, Erwin smiled. “I thought so. Are you feeling okay?” Armin was surprised by the question. “I`ll live,” he said dully. He brushed his fingers over his hand wrappings. His mother had taught him how to use them.

He looked back up at Erwin. “How are we going to get out of here?” he asked. The Jedi Master`s face turned serious, and looked to the entrance of the cave. “The troops don`t know we`re on planet,” he began. Armin blinked. “Excuse me?” he asked blankly.

“We were the only ones who came. Our role was as messengers, not fighters. The Republic were going to evacuate the planet rather than send forces.”

“Wait,” Armin said, his head reeling. “Why?”

A horrifying sound filled the air. It was faint, as if coming from a great distance, but shook Armin to the bone.

“We need to leave, now.” Erwin muttered. “What was that?” Armin asked the Jedi. Mikasa and Eren shot nervous glances at each other, but neither replied. They followed Erwin out of the cave, giving Armin no choice but to follow.

Harsh cries filled the air, this time familiar to Armin, unnerving the other three. “Okay, what was that?” Eren asked.

“Sand People,” Armin replied. He looked at Erwin. “We`re going to Anchorage?”

“I have a friend who can help us,” Erwin replied.

Armin frowned. “What happened to the ship you came in?” he asked. Erwin gave a short laugh. “It got shot out of the sky while we were trying to land. We haven’t even been to Anchorage yet, but somehow I don’t think it`ll make much difference. We need to make escape a priority.”

Eren frowned, his eyes burning in anger. Armin wondered why the boy was so angry, when Jedi were known for being peaceful and tranquil.

They got back onto the speeders, heading towards the city.

Anchorage was burning. Flames could be seen from a great distance as they travelled closer to the settlement. Fire burnt like comets through the sky. “Master, are those the basilisk war droids?” Eren yelled over the wind. Erwin nodded in affirmation.

Anchorage was in ruins. The streets were in chaos, and people were crawling over each other in an attempt to escape the fires.

Erwin grabbed Armin by the scruff of his shirt as they leapt from the speeders, landing in a side alley. Eren and Mikasa followed, and they immediately set to a run, heading towards the space port.

Once they reached their destination, rather than a ship, Erwin led them to the back of the offices. The Padawans seemed unsurprised at this.

In the office was a short man around the same height as Armin. He was dressed head to toe in black, rough clothing that indicated poverty, and had two blasters sitting on his hips. The man caught sight of Erwin, marched up to him and punched him in the face. “What the fuck is this shit, Erwin, you said they were here to scout! If it weren`t for my contacts, we`d all be dead! I did not come back to this shithole to die!” he shouted. He caught sight of Armin. “Who the fuck is the desert brat?”

Erwin wiped his lip, which was spouting blood. “I need a favour, Levi,” he said calmly.

The man called Levi gave a harsh laugh. “I`m already killing myself over this for you. Do you understand that?” he spat.

Erwin ignored him and jerked his head towards Armin. “Take the kid with you.”

Armin blinked.

“What?” he asked flatly, while Eren rolled his eyes. Mikasa punched him in the arm, and he fell still, rubbing his arm.

“Um, no offense, but…” Armin began, but Levi interrupted him.

“I can`t, why don`t you accept him into your stupid cult…”

“He`s too old, and you know that, Levi. He`ll be of benefit, I promise.”

A crash sounded outside. “Fuck you,” Levi spat, walking forward and grabbing a yelping Armin by the arm, pulling him forward.

“The ship is in Bay 4. I`ve already sent the codes. This is your last chance, Erwin. I won`t be seeing you again.” Erwin nodded in understanding, and gestured to the Padawans to leave the room. They left without a backwards glance. When Erwin reached the door, he paused and looked back. “May the Force be with you,” he said. Armin didn`t know who he was addressing.

“Fuck you,” Levi repeated, and Armin was certain a shadow of a smile crossed Erwin`s face before he turned and walked out of Armin`s life for the second time.

“So,” Levi turned to Armin, “you have a name?”

“Armin,” he replied, all of a sudden feeling nervous.

Levi scoffed. “I`ll bet you`ve never been outside a desert before. You ever been to Anchorage, kid?”

“Of course I have!” Armin exclaimed, feeling his face grow red at the accusation for reasons he couldn`t explain.

“And off planet?”

He had him there. Armin glanced at his feet. “N-never,” he stammered.

Levi scoffed.

“Well, you`re going to be off planet for a while,” he mused, sitting at the control panel that Armin was fairly certain belonged to air control. Levi pointed at the panel at a blinking light. “You see that, kid? That`s your friends taking off,” he glanced up at Armin. “How does a desert kid like you get mixed in with the Jedi?”

Armin shrugged. “How does a gang member get mixed up with the Jedi?” he countered.

Levi gave a rough laugh. “Maybe you`ll be of use to us after all,” he mused.

Armin chose to ignore that comment.

They waited in the room for a few minutes, until all but one of the lights on the panel were blinking. “Well, kid, that`s our cue to go. Ready to say goodbye to this dust bucket?”

Armin couldn`t say he wasn`t.

A new blaster shoved into his hands, they somehow made it to Levi`s ship with no hassles. Armin was too polite to point out that the ship was nothing more than a revamped smugglers vessel, and elected to silently pray it was space worthy. With no idea where they were headed, with people of all alien races rushing to and fro, he sat in an empty seat in the cargo bay as they took off, leaving behind the planet and all he had ever known.


	2. Chapter 2

Meditation had always been difficult for Eren. He would kneel on the ground with his classmates for all of five minutes before he started fidgeting, fighting boredom and the cramping in his legs. His teachers had all told him this would pass with age, as age brought with it patience and peace, but Eren felt as though it was getting worse as he got older. His mind wouldn't leave him be, and he would end up trying not to tap his hands or shift too much in the two hours they were required to meditate every morning and evening, his peers seeming to remain still for hours on end with ease. Meditation ended with everyone around him looking as though they'd had a personal connection with the Force, while he was often just hungry and eager to stretch his legs. He half wondered if the Force would ever bother connecting with him.

He told himself he would be better at the spiritual side of being a Jedi once he received his knighthood. Being a Knight was like achieving a new level of enlightenment, or so everyone had told him. But, the day of his graduation came and went, and there was no mystical power that rushed over him, granting him the power to sit still for hours on end. The only difference he felt was that he was now no longer a Padawan and could finally solve disputes on his own. That, however, Erwin had told him, would only come with time, and under supervision at first. He had made a face at that.

He found himself kneeling in the middle of the meditation hall of the Temple in Coruscant, seated next to Mikasa. Eren found it more difficult than ever to still his mind. He had found it difficult enough to meditate in the temple on Dantooine, which was surrounded by nothing but vast plains of grass, farmland and brith swimming lazily through the air.

There, his problem was closer to finding the balance between a still mind and falling asleep. Here, the planet was alive, thrumming with activity and energy. It set his nerves on edge, and he wasn't quite sure if he liked it. Dantooine had been boring, but there was something about Coruscant that felt rotten to the core.

He opened an eye and glanced at Mikasa, who appeared to have achieved the task of stilling her mind. Of course. He closed his eyes and forced himself to concentrate on something. Something empty.

His mind drifted to Tatooine, the Outer Rim world that consisted of nothing but desert. He remembered the one and only time he had visited the planet, on their failed mission to instigate peace talks. The planet had been under attack from the Mandalorians when they had arrived, and he remembered thinking grimly that the planet was toast.

The Mandalorians had come far since that day. They had abandoned Tatooine soon after, like so many others before them. Eren didn't blame them. The planet was nothing but a settlement and a bunch of farmers, hardly one for the taking. It did yield one advantage, though: As far as Eren knew, life had very much returned to normal on the desert planet. Which was something other planets couldn't say.

The Outer Rim was burning. The Mandalorians had amassed technology and an army of note over the years, and unleashed it upon the unsuspecting planets of the Outer Rim. Entire systems were collapsing one by one. The Republic had elected to ignore this: the Outer Rim did not fall into Republic territory, and the people burned, along with Eren's temper. He never understood apathy in the face of lives destroyed. Still, he cleared his mind, following the events carefully, but trying not to become emotionally involved. 

It was only a few weeks ago that the Republic finally entered the war, threatened by Mandalorian expansion. They had finally realised what would happen when the Mandalorians ran out of Outer Rim worlds to conquer, but they had waited too long, and were no match for the Mandalorian army. They would be crushed, and everyone knew it.

The call for the Jedi to fight had come in a few days before, which was why Eren and Mikasa found themselves on Coruscant. It hadn't mattered, though. The Council had told the Republic they would reflect on it, which was as good as “no”.

He tried to focus his mind back onto meditation: on the endless sand of Tatooine, nothing but golden dunes, harsh against the bright blue of the sky, glittering brightly under the glare of the Twin Suns.

Getting lost on that planet had probably been the worst thing to happen to him, and it had to happen on the most boring planet in the Outer Rim. Getting lost on Taris or even Nar Shadaa would have been better. They were holes, but at least they had people.

It had been pure luck that he ran into that farmer's kid. He smiled grimly as he remembered his failed attempts at trying to persuade the boy using the Force. He hadn't cared much at the time, assuming it was the lack of eye contact, but now Eren wasn't so sure. There had been something about him that he couldn't quite place.

It all didn't matter now. The kid was gone, probably working for Levi, and there was a high chance of him being dead. Frail kids like that didn't last ten years working for Levi. Eren didn't even know what he looked like, he had been bundled up in those robes and wrappings, not even his eyes had been in view.

He caught himself. _This is why I suck at meditation_ , he admonished, shifting to take pressure off his left leg. He tried to cast his mind back to the endless sand, convinced that the boring image would somehow trigger an intimate connection with the Force. He almost laughed at the thought.

The sound of people arguing interrupted his thoughts. He frowned slightly, but didn't open his eyes. They were in the middle of a Jedi Temple, and everyone knew Jedi didn't argue. They were passive aggressive, but they certainly didn't argue. The voices steadily became louder as the people arguing approached, moving down the passage outside the meditation hall. Someone in the hall coughed, but the silence quickly returned.

 _Ignore them_ , he told himself, taking a deep breath. Sand, dunes, two suns high in the sky…

It was no use, the people arguing were directly outside the hall, and they did not lower their voices. He shifted again, feeling agitated.

“Ignore them,” he heard Mikasa whisper, directing his own thoughts back at him.

He bit his lip, trying to listen, all thoughts of meditation abandoned.

“… cannot come here recruiting after openly defying this council!”

“The Jedi should be given the choice to fight,”

“Not against the Council's decision, Alek!”

Eren opened his eyes, and glanced at Mikasa. The Jedi in the room all seemed to have abandoned their meditation.

“They're still recruiting?” someone whispered. A few people stood up. Eren moved onto his haunches, straining to hear the conversation over the whispered comments of the people around him.

“If they wish to join your rebellion, they will not be welcome back here. They will have to pay for war crimes. Do your followers understand that?”

“They do,” the man named Alek replied.

Their voices disappeared as they moved further away. The Jedi in the hall looked at each other, unsure of what to make of this development, until a few people stood up, walked to the doors, and left.

Eren and Mikasa sat there, incredulous, as more and more people left, following the man Alek.

“That Council member is going to be very surprised when he finds a small crowd following him,” Eren muttered. Mikasa looked at him with anxiety. “Eren, don’t tell me you’re thinking of joining them!”

He shot a look at her. “I am,” he said, standing.  
“Erwin won’t allow it,” she said, standing with him.

“He’s not my keeper.”

“Eren!” She sighed, and put a hand on her forehead, massaging it.

“Mikasa, those Mandalorians have been burning the Outer Rim. A thousand times worse than Tatooine.” She stilled, remembering. He had been separated from them soon after landing. He had escaped to the desert almost immediately, but she and Erwin had spent hours scouring Anchorage in search of him. She had seen the horrors the Mandalorians inflicted upon their victims, the merciless butchery the people suffered under their hands. She bit her lip, tense.

He made up his mind, and walked out the doors, following the small crowd that had gathered. She sighed, and followed.

“Changed your mind?” he asked, teasing. She shoved him. “You’ll be killed without me,” she said matter-of-factly, and he silently agreed.

* * *

 

Taris was, if Eren was being honest, the Outer Rim’s poor attempt at making their own Coruscant. It had been impressive, with the entire planet covered in skyscrapers, and the people had been welcoming enough. But their ragtag group had travelled there to recruit the five Jedi Masters and their apprentices that were there, and to find them they travelled to the Lower City.

Taris had been built so that the rich could live in the upper parts of the city, whilst crushing the poor who lived in the Lower City. It made for a charming metaphor, Eren thought, eyes wide with horror as he saw children picking at a trash can for food, people being beaten up and gang members standing around sullenly, illegally modified blasters hanging from their belts. He moved his cloak slightly, keeping his lightsaber from sight.

“This isn’t even the worst of it,” Mikasa muttered. Eren looked at her in surprise. “How do you know?”

She pointed at the ground. “This isn’t the bottom, you know,” she said, doing a good job at keeping the bitterness from her voice. “It goes further and further until there’s no light and you hit the Undercity.”

She gave no further explanation, but Eren felt as though he understood. He thought of all the people in the Upper City above them, completely oblivious to the suffering of those beneath them, feeling a flash of anger that he killed immediately.

Mikasa looked at him with sympathy. “It’s not just Taris,” she said, softly.

He knew she was right. It was an unfortunate reality, and invading Mandalorians was not going to make the kid’s lives any better.

The ground started vibrating and a deafening sound interrupted them. As soon as it left, another replaced it. “Must be the swoop racers doing a practice run,” Mikasa said mildly. “The races only start at ten, right?” he asked. She nodded in clarification, but they picked up their pace nonetheless.

The swoop races were, Eren thought, exhilarating. Compared to the rest of the planet, the track was alive, and it felt as though every person on the planet was crammed into the stands surrounding the track, which lay on a straight that seemed to go on and on, tunneled through the buildings around it. Debris lay on the track, but rather than being cleared away or being an eyesore, it added to the experience as racers expertly dodged massive hunks of metal, their bikes travelling faster than Eren could have imagined.

“Which racer are we looking out for again?” he asked Mikasa as a swoop bike flew past. “The Mysterious Stranger,” she said, and Eren struggled to muffle a giggle. “What kind of a name is that?” he asked, and she smiled, shaking her head.

“It’s a tradition, they don’t use their real names,” she explained.

“It’s a really stupid nickname,” he reiterated.

“I suppose it is, but apparently he’s the best.”

When Eren had signed up to join the Republic as a Jedi to fight the Mandalorians, he did not expect to find himself on the best swoop track in the galaxy. The Jedi they were looking for were somewhere in the Lower City, and so their leader had decided it would save more time to ask the local gangs if they knew anything about that. After coming to Taris, Eren agreed. Within the Lower City, the swoop gangs seemed to run the place, and sucking up to their star racer seemed the best option to getting leverage. That meant betting. A lot of betting.

The Republic had placed a massive amount of credits on the driver of one of the biggest Tarisian swoop gangs, the Hidden Beks. It had been a desperate call for attention. Eren privately thought having Jedi betting on the race at all would garner enough attention, but he wasn’t the one making the plans. He and Mikasa had been assigned to watch the race and to speak to the Beks’ racer afterwards, with the goal of securing a meeting.

It felt like a lot of trouble for five Jedi and a few apprentices, but they desperately needed more people. Despite the number of people that seemed intent on joining, they only had around twenty Jedi or so. The Revanchists, they were called. Their leader wanted at least two Jedi in each fleet, which was impossible at the moment, and would probably remain so until the Council lifted its ban or if the Mandalorians attacked Republic space, inspiring more Jedi to their cause.

Either way, Eren wasn’t complaining. He could finally get out of the stuffy temple and do something about the situation.

Excitement in the crowd grew as the betting station was closed and the swoop bikes lined up on the track. Results were based on time, and they didn't race each other directly on the long but narrow track.

The practice rounds did nothing to prepare him for the onslaught. The swoop bikes soared down the track, missing debris by inches as they moved with a fluidity Eren couldn`t believe from clunky machines. He was in awe that these people with no Force training were able to react with such reflexes.

Four races later and the first casualty happened. The swoop bike barely nicked a piece of metal, but at the speed it was going at it was enough to send it spinning into the nearest wall, the bike torn to pieces.

Much to Eren's horror, the debris was not cleared away for the next heat. That cleared up where the debris came from, but surely it gave the other racers a distinct disadvantage?

However, he was the only one who seemed concerned, as the next racer moved to the starting line. Mikasa leaned forward. “This is our guy.”

“Great,” Eren muttered. “He'll never dodge that wrecked bike.” He was surprised to see Mikasa's lip curling. “Have a little faith,” she said. He blinked at her. “Why do I get the feeling you've…” but he was interrupted by the sound of the starting signal.

The swoop had passed them in a matter of seconds, and approached the wrecked swoop on the track rapidly. Eren felt his heart in his throat and tried to fight it down, remembering he was a Jedi and had to have better control over his emotions. He noted Mikasa watching passively but attentively, and he forced himself to calm down.

Eren's fears went unfounded, however, when their racer flew over the wreckage, as if it were made of air rather than metal. “Huh?” Eren asked blankly. Mikasa giggled. “They're built to fly short distances, dummy,” she said, nudging him playfully.

He felt like an idiot. “So why don't they all just fly over the debris?” he asked, as the swoop landed back onto the track with a **_BANG!_** that made him wince. It continued at speed, as if it had never been interrupted.  

“It slows down the bike,” she replied, her eyes on the counter. “Though, this guy’s skilled enough that it doesn’t seem to make a difference.”

The bike went over the finish line in one piece, and the crowd went ballistic. The Stranger was ten seconds faster than the closest time made that day, despite the wreckage on the track.

“Looks like the boss knows what he's doing,” Mikasa remarked as they stood up, making to leave along with most of the stadium. There were still three races to go, but as far as the crowd was concerned, the day was over.

They made their way towards the pit area, but were redirected to the garage where the The Mysterious Stranger was parking his bike. The first thing Eren planned to do was to ask him why he would call himself that, if Mikasa didn't strangle him before he could get all the words out.

They managed to get through based on their Jedi status. Eren figured the gang members that served as guards didn't have much respect or fear for Jedi, but with the amount of money they had bet, as well as the fact that Mikasa was terrifying, they were allowed straight into the private racers' garage.

The garage was built below the swoop track, small vents on the ceiling allowing rays of light to filter through, supplementing the ugly, grey lights taped to the ceiling. The vents allowed the sounds of the crowd to carry down, muffled by the heavy concrete of the track. The garage was large, and it was surprisingly spacious.

They found the racer, who was just jumping out of his parked bike. He turned around cautiously as he saw the two Jedi approach, his face covered by a full helmet with a visor.

“Mysterious Stranger?” Eren asked, trying to keep his face straight while saying the name. The racer nodded, allowing Eren to continue.

“We’re a part of the Jedi force assisting the Republic against the Mandalorians, and we need the help of the Hidden Beks.”

“The Jedi?” he asked, his voice muffled by the helmet. He gave a laugh. “I was wondering why you would bet so much on me. That was a lot of pressure you put me under, you know, and all to meet my boss.” He leaned against his bike and crossed his arms, cocking his head. The ground shook and there was a deep rumbling as a swoop bike flew down the race track above them.

“You know, the day isn’t over. You don’t even know if I’ve got the fastest time yet. My boss won’t want to see you if I haven’t won,” he commented.  
Eren raised an eyebrow. “Modesty from a Hidden Bek?”

The Stranger scoffed, shaking his head. “Not modesty, realism. I could be overtaken any day. Gotta stay on my toes.” He tapped the end of a booted foot against the asphalt floor. A pause hang heavy in the air as he contemplated the Jedi. It frustrated Eren that he couldn’t see the other man’s face, and he glared at his own reflection in the visor.

Finally, the Stranger spoke. “You’re going up against the Mandalorians, you say?”

A flash of hope. “That’s right.” Eren said.

The Stranger considered them for a moment, then lifted his hands to his helmet, removing it from his head. He looked down as he shook his shaggy blonde hair from his face. He ran a gloved hand through it as he looked up, bright blue eyes meeting Eren’s. Eren was momentarily stunned to see how young he was, he’d been expecting a hardened gangster, not a man who looked to be barely out of his teens.

An announcement sounded over the tinny speakers in the garage, voice crackling from the poor sound equipment. “ ** _Tarisians, you have your winner for the 600 th Tarisian Season Opener! The Mysterious Stranger of The Hidden Beks has won!_**” The announcement was met with thunderous applause from above. The cheers echoed down to the garage, as if it were caught in a jar, wanting to be held on to forever.

The man looked up at the vent above him, his expression unreadable. “Guess I made a lot of people rich today,” he muttered. He turned back to the Jedi and grinned, shifting his helmet and holding out his free hand.

“I’d be happy to assist the Jedi.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Extra points to those who know why I gave Armin the cheesy stage name "The Mysterious Stranger".  
> I apologise if this is confusing, I live in LaLa Land where everyone is familiar with the Mandalorian Wars. More will be explored in further chapters!  
> Message me here or on tumblr if you have comments, questions or just want to chat!  
> Kudos and comments are the fuel that keeps this fic running ^^


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings for violence and implied PTSD 
> 
> Just a warning, this chapter is pretty hectic compared to the previous chapters. 
> 
> Zabraks are like Darth Maul from the movies, but their natural skin colour is in the range of humans, not bright red and black. Maul had his skin tattooed. Sasha has hair, as well as horns. 
> 
> Mandalorians are a cultural race, made up primarily of humans. Jean is human.

The Mandalorians were a proud warrior race, spread across various planets along the Outer Rim. Their value system was built around hard work and the worth of the individual within the group. They were split into clans, rather than families, and each clan worked hard to bring themselves a worthy reputation amongst their people.

The leader of the Mandalorians was named Mandalore. Mandalore was a title, their previous name thrown aside as they dedicated their entire identity to the role. The current Mandalore had a dream that promised a great future for the Mandalorians: an epic battle between them and the political and military giant in the Core known as the Republic. The Republic had massive fleets, skilled soldiers and formidable weapons. It had countless tactics and fighting styles due to the diversity of its worlds. It also, on occasion, called the Jedi to arms. There was no greater enemy to fight, and Mandalore offered his people an opportunity too great to turn down.

And so they had set the Outer Rim ablaze, daring the Republic to turn their weapons towards them. It was only a matter of time before they took the bait.

Jean was, at a first glance, a typical Mandalorian. He was tall, strong and had a strong sense of honour. He was a hard worker, a courageous fighter, and utterly loyal to his comrades. He knew exactly what traits were admired in a Mandalorian, and we worked hard to display all of them.

Jean had worked hard to make a name for himself within Clan Ordo. Like many Mandalorians, he was a warrior through and through, working hard at hand-hand combat and weapons training. He was a skilled pilot, and a decent shot. His teachers were certain he would one day be the pride of Clan Ordo, and the Mandalorian people. The praise only fuelled his ambition.

He found himself rapidly rising through the ranks, the expansion movement providing plenty of opportunity to prove himself, and prove himself he did. He had participated in five battles thus far, all in the second wave of the attacks. He had been proud to form a part of the army that crushed all that were in their way, his heart soaring as they heard news of planet after planet being conquered, knowing he was a part of the functional and efficient body that was the Mandalorian race.

Now, at the age of twenty-three, he was at the cusp of being on the frontlines for the imminent invasion of Onderon. Being on the front lines, in the first wave of an attack, was exhilarating, and the desire and ambition of every Mandalorian warriot, simply for the honour it would bring. Once upon a time, this would have made his heart swell with pride. Now, it left him cold.

It had started on Cathar. Cathar, the planet that so few in the galaxy cared about that nobody had noticed that all its inhabitants were dead. They had been exterminated weeks ago, yet if the Republic knew, there was certain to be an outcry. Jean wondered if that had been the point of the extermination. It would certainly goad the Republic into action when they found out.

Jean had arrived on planet in time to assist the effort to round up the inhabitants. He had assumed the purpose of this was to enforce control and to find slaves. Instead, Mandalore, their leader, the person Jean had worshipped since childhood, had ordered them to open fire and kill every single one. There had been children.

To Jean`s shame, he didn`t say a word. He stood, frozen in place, his blaster rifle aimed, his finger on the trigger, eyes wide as he saw the life snuffed out of thousands as they tried to escape to the sea, wishing someone would stop the madness.

As if hearing his thoughts, a soldier stepped out of rank and began to protest to their leader. Silence was Jean`s downfall as he allowed the soldier to be killed for insubordination. Silence was the death of Jean`s certainty, of Jean`s peace. Jean`s silence cost him his sanity, whilst the silencing of a thousand screams cost him his faith.

You see, Jean was also careful for a Mandalorian. He took care not to take unnecessary risks that would put his life in danger. He was far from willing to throw his life away for a cause. Maybe, once upon a time, he had been, when he had just reached the age of maturity, where he would be allowed to join the Mandalorian army and bring honour to his name. The front lines of Cathar had the unexpected side effect of making him question. Watching innocent people being shot, being burnt alive, the harsh ash of the dead that he had breathed in putting a sour taste in his mouth that he could still taste, weeks later. He felt his will wavering, threatening to collapse, and for the first time in his life he began to question. He was very careful to not make this obvious to his peers, as it would tear his reputation into tatters. He would be branded a coward, and would either be killed or made a slave to his own people. The mask was slipped on, and Jean allowed his true thoughts to be made obvious only in his dreams, where he could scream bloody murder.

Call him crazy.

He must have been putting on a good act, because he now found himself waiting to be deployed to Onderon. They awaited orders on Dxun, a vile moon of Onderon that had served as a Mandalorian outpost for decades. Dense with jungle, Dxun`s greatest achievements included the spawning of massive beasts and a few Sith Lords. Their temples were somewhere in the forest, which the Mandalorians avoided. The beasts around the temple were more aggressive than average, which didn`t surprise Jean. Something to do with bad energy, no doubt.

As typical for a forest moon, Dxun was hot and humid, the air clinging horribly to everything. The vegetation grew quickly, and they were constantly cutting away vines and trees that threatened the clearings that served as their camps and makeshift landing zone for their fighters.

In battle, each Mandalorian had a duty to fight for honour. In camp, however, they found honour in fulfilling duties that would make the camp run smoothly. Every job was needed, and every job would be done to the best of the individual`s ability.

Jean had been assigned to guard duty which, whilst boring, he had to admit he was relieved by, grateful for the monotony. A welcome reprieve, and he would happily endure the thick, humid air and monsters of this damned moon if he could be spared the screams that clung to his mind, coming to the fore in his dreams.

He kept his thoughts away from the upcoming invasion, afraid that he`d lose his nerve if he thought of it for too long. He played pazaak in his head to keep his mind occupied.

He shifted uncomfortably, his feet sore and his armour heavy. He stood outside the cooking tents, guarding it from creatures lured by the scent of an easy meal, whether it was the food or the cooks.

“Not again, Sasha!” he heard a voice complain loudly.

“It`ll make the food taste better!” a second voice retorted. Jean rolled his eyes. Their stupid arguments happened every day.

“Spice is not made for food!”

“Seriously, Connie, they won`t even notice and just think of how funny it would be if this entire camp got high.”

Her voice was lowered, as if she thought Jean wouldn`t be able to hear her. He stared into the forest in front of him. He contemplated intervening, not doubting that the pair would drug the entire camp.

Sasha and Connie were two Zabrak slaves that had been captured several years before, or so Jean`s commanding officer had told him. They had not yet conquered Iridonia, the Zabrak homeworld, so he assumed they had lived on a colony. Zabrak were strong and natural warriors, and so the Mandalorians had sent them to the battlefield, where they defied all expectations and performed terribly. After their miserable performance on the field, they had been reassigned to domestic duty, cooking meals and cleaning dishes, providing food for the entire unit on Dxun.

Jean had to admit they were pretty good at their new jobs, the food being infinitely better than it had been on Cathar, but he also found them annoying, not least because they seemed to regard him as their friend and were not afraid of him in the least. This unsettled Jean as he couldn`t figure out if he liked it or not. Despite himself, he could not help the fondness he felt for them, their cheery natures uplifting his spirits like a tonic.

However, no fondness in the world would allow him to let them spike the camp food with drugs, especially as he was the guard responsible to watch them, he would receive some of the blame, and, despite his gratefulness of the reprieve, he had no desire to be on guard duty in Dxun for the rest of his life.

“Oi,” he said loudly, butting the tent with the end of his rifle. “Cut it out, I don`t want to hear any more Spice talk.” They burst into giggles, and Jean wondered if the galaxy would fear the Mandalorians if they knew there were losers like him in their ranks who could barely speak without making the damned _slaves_ laugh.

They lowered their voices to whispers, and Jean stifled a sigh. He turned around and marched to the entrance of the tent.

“Did I not tell you to stop?” he asked, hoping the rifle blaster in his hands would at the very least encourage them to take him seriously.

They turned to face him, clearly trying to hide grins. Sasha was fairly tall, her auburn hair tied back messily. Connie was shorter than her with no hair at all, small horns scattered across his head. Sasha held a small bag in her hand.

Jean folded his arms irritably. “Where did you even get that?” he asked.

She grinned. “It`s not Spice spice, so you can calm down, Jean.” Once again, he wondered how they had discovered his birth name.

“Ordo,” he corrected, insisting on the use of his clan name out of habit, despite the wave of nausea that ran through him when he did.

She stuck a tongue out. “Ordo, whatever.” She held the bag out to him. “This is a herb that we use on my home world. It makes food delicious, and there is a patch growing right outside the tent. Or, there was. It`s all in here now.” She shook the bag and pointed at a patch of ground just past Jean. “It was growing right over there.”

He raised an eyebrow, despite the fact she couldn`t see with his helmet obscuring his face.

“Sasha, you can put whatever shit you want into your food, but leave it out of everyone else`s.”

“It`s not shit!” she said, hotly.

“I don`t care, don`t do it.” He thought for a moment, before marching forward and snatching the bag from her grasp.

“Hey!” she protested.

“Give that back!” Connie protested.

“Please, Jean,” she asked, her eyes wide. “It`s the only piece of home I`ve had for a while, I`d have to go into the forest to find more.”

Jean was annoyed. He was confused, and he was fucking tired. He felt like his brain hadn`t stopped running for weeks, like he was slowly dying on the inside. It was hot, he was hungry and the slaves he was in charge of were wasting time with plants instead of doing their tasks.

“Too bad,” he spat, walking over to the open flame of the stove and throwing the small bag into the fire. It caught fire immediately, the scent of burnt herbs filling the tent. Connie`s eyes were wide, he appraised Jean nervously, but Jean could feel Sasha`s glare on his back. His eyes shot to her face, and he saw the Zabrak`s eyes darken as she looked at him with anger. “You know, _Ordo_ ,” she spat the name, “you can be a real ass.”

She turned around, picked up the knife from the bench and continued chopping purple yams. Connie stood between the two, looking as awkward as Jean felt. Her fellow slave put a hand on her shoulder.

“Well, I didn`t expect anything different from a Mandalorian brute,” she continued loudly, her knife slicing through the yam with venom. The insult cut through him, but the mask was on and Mandalorians don`t get angry over an insult from a slave.

“I`m not the one getting angry over a plant,” Jean retorted. He turned on heel and stalked out of the tent, trying to feel happy that he had spurred them into working again.

Much to Jean`s relief, dinner didn`t taste any different to usual that night.

He tried to calm himself down as he lay down to sleep. He was sick of reliving Cathar. The people were gone, but they visited him in his dreams every single night.

He summoned his courage, closed his eyes and allowed sleep to take him.

It was late in the night, when he heard people shouting outside his tent, that he knew he had screwed up. Again.

He heard a thud and a sickening crunch as he heard a slave being beaten, just outside his tent. Another thud, followed by a yelp. He grimaced and tried to block out the sounds.

The beating lasted for several minutes. Jean winced every time he heard the slave being struck. Then, he heard a voice that made his blood run cold.

“Leave him alone!” he heard Sasha shout.

“Fuck,” Jean muttered, lying still on the floor as he listened, debating if he should involve himself. He wondered if apathy would kill him. The soldiers outside muttered something, then he heard another thud.

Mind made up and blaster rifle in hand, he quietly put on his helmet and left his tent. Sasha and Connie were lying on the ground, blood pouring from Connie`s nose as he ignored it, cradling his arm.

“He wasn`t running away,” Sasha protested to the two soldiers standing over them, earning herself a kick in the face.

 _Running away?_ Jean`s eyes scanned the ground and he found what he expected: a small pile of leaves lay on the ground near Connie.

“Idiots,” Jean muttered, and winced again as the Mandalorian guard kicked Sasha again as she tried to explain the story behind her stupid herbs.

Despite the fact that they were idiots, despite the fact that they had subjected themselves to being beaten to death, despite the fact that Jean was now abandoning everything he had spent his life working towards for two slaves, Jean set his blaster rifle to stun and turned his weapon on his kinsmen. The first soldier went down, his partner turned around and, before he could utter a sound, was shot as well, joining his friend on the ground.

“Shit,” he muttered, avoiding looking at Sasha and Connie on the floor as he shouldered his gun, picking up the first soldier and dumping him unceremoniously inside his tent.

He turned to find Sasha right behind him, the second soldier slung over her shoulder, her eyes hard, her expression unreadable.

“Don`t say a word,” he muttered, fighting off guilt and panic simultaneously. Did he seriously just attack two of his kinsmen to save two slaves? The entire situation was absurd, and Jean had no ideas of how to get out of this.

Sasha returned from the tent and knelt next to Connie, who was leaning forward and pinching his nose in an attempt to stop the blood flowing from it.

“Sho,” Connie grimaced, his head bowed, “wach a` we gon` djoo?” he asked thickly.

There was a pause. “I think,” Sasha said, slowly, “that we should probably try to get off-world.” She looked up at Jean, who was staring at a patch of ground, frozen in place.

“Ordo!” she barked, and he started, brain creaking into action. “Um,” he said eloquently, eyes darting around the clearing, trying to think of a plan. He ran his hand through his hair, when he smacked his forehead. “I have a ship!” he exclaimed.

“You had a ship this whole time and you never left this stupid moon?” she deadpanned. Connie coughed.

“Well, I didn`t expect to shoot my own people in the back!” Jean muttered, trying to keep his voice down.

“Please, don`t tell me the only reason you did that was to save us,” she rolled her eyes and put one of Connie`s arms over her shoulders, supporting him as they stood up together.

He was hit with the realization that he wasn`t as upset about his actions as he thought he would be. The screams of Cathar were burnt into the inside of his skull forever, and realised he had been waiting for something like this to happen to try to wash away the horror and guilt.

“No, it was Cathar,” he said quietly. Sasha cast her eyes downward, understanding. “I knew it, Mandalorians are all the same.” She looked up at him. “You`re a little different, though.”

“And why is that?” he asked dully, as they approached his tiny fighter. They would have to squash to fit.

“You care,” she said, simply. He blinked at her, not really understanding.

Light slowly filtered through the leaves as dawn broke. The camp would be a hive of activity soon. “We should go,” he muttered, moving to Connie`s other side to help support him, wondering what the hell he had gotten himself into.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so Jean arrives!  
> Poor morally conflicted baby.  
> The chapters are getting shorter and shorter, I need to stop that :/  
> And I really need to work on my other fic as well.  
> This has barely been edited, I apologise for any sloppy formatting and punctuation. That stupid notapostraphe is back and will be fixed.  
> I am in desperate need of someone to beta this or my other fic. If you're interested, please send me a message!


	4. Chapter 4

Someone whistled a forgotten lullaby, sad and slow. It echoed through the cargo hold. It was cold. The only insulation was the sheer amount of bodies, a combination of refugees and the desperate, trying to sleep as they headed to Nar Shadaa. The air was stale, and the amount of unwashed people made the hold smell funny.

Armin sat against the wall, small legs curled up to his chest. He pulled at his hand wrappings as a distraction, listening to the lullaby and hoping it wouldn't stop. It was comforting.

He had expected Levi to ditch him at the first opportunity but, much to his surprise, Levi had taken him under his wing. Nar Shadaa was to be a short stop, he promised, and he hoped he was right. It didn't sound like a very nice place.

Levi had been a part of a gang, he learnt. The man had pulled him aside soon after escaping Tatooine.

“Look kid, I know you've been through some shit, but you should know some things about me if you're going to choose to stay or find your own path.”

So he sat Armin down and he talked. He told Armin about his life in the gangs, jumping from one to another. He told him about the gang wars and the people he had killed. Armin had listened to it all, wide eyed. He should be scared of the man, he had thought. This man has killed before, another voice told him. Yet, he didn't feel any fear. Wariness, yes, but not fear.

The man next to him was honest. The man next to him did things because he had to. The man next to him, he felt, was unbelievably kind. A different sort of kindness, the type that compels a hardened criminal to take in a small boy who had no one else.

“How did you know Erwin?” Armin had asked him. Levi scoffed. “I just told you all of that shit and that's what you want to know?”

Armin fiddled with his hand wrappings, head bowing.

“He's one of my oldest friends. He's an asshole. We grew up together, trained to become Jedi together.”

Armin's head lifted at that, and he looked at Levi, a million questions forming but none forthcoming.

“That got your attention, huh? Yeah, I left. Didn't get past Knight. I had a disagreement with the Council. I found my way to Nar Shadaa. Still had the ideals of the Jedi, you see. I though a pit like Nar Shadaa would have plenty of people to help. It swallowed me up, chewed me out. I had to join a gang just to survive.”

There was a pause. Armin resisted the urge to ask him what happened to his lightsaber. He had heard somewhere that it was rude to ask, but he couldn't remember where he had heard it. It was probably untrue. Levi would probably not care.

He still didn't ask.

His hand wrappings would be destroyed in no time from being picked at so often.

“You have a dream, Armin?” Levi suddenly asked.

Armin started at the question. He hadn't thought about it. He had always resigned himself to a life as a farmer. To suddenly have other options was intimidating.

He had a fantasy. A fantasy was further off than a dream. A dream was tangible. Fantasies belonged in fairytales and bedtime stories.

When did he start believing in them?

“Swoop racing,” he mumbled to the floor.

“Speak up,” Levi prompted. Armin lifted his head and looked at him.

“Swoop racing,” he said louder. A pause as Levi appraised him. “I… I… I want to be a swoop racer. Find the best tracks in the galaxy, race on them with the best bike, and see the galaxy.” He bit his lip, embarrassed. “It's stupid,” he added, as if it were an apology.

Levi didn`t say anything, but Armin could see fire in his eyes.

He knew then that Levi was firmly on his side.

Their stay in Nar Shadaa had been short. Armin trusted Levi, but he would have been lying if he denied a small part of his mind half expected Levi to lose him in the masses of refugees and take off.

“Stay close, kid, there are slavers everywhere,” Levi said grimly, grabbing the scruff of Armin's hood and pulling him along. “Keep pace,” he said.

The people were endless. Nar Shadaa was an unimaginable maze, a mess of a city built from metal haphazardly bolted together, stacked high towards the sky. The people placed down their belongings and declared any available free space home.

They found a market place, people of every alien race in the galaxy cooking food of different ethnic origins. Armin's nose was assaulted with a thousand different scents, not all of them pleasant.

Levi bought him a vegetable skewer, telling him he didn't want to know what kind of meat was being grilled. Armin believed him.

They sat against a wall and ate their skewers while watching people walk by. The food was hot, and he burned his tongue on the first bite.

A group of people walked past, all with blasters on their belts. A few gave them sour looks as they passed them.

Armin swallowed his mouthful of food.

“Levi,” he asked, “where's your gang?”

Levi was in the process of removing the last piece of vegetable from his skewer. He chewed carefully, then swallowed. “Gone,” he said, twirling the stick between his fingers. The stick was charred on the ends. He didn't offer more information, and Armin didn't ask further.

Levi booked them into a hotel. It was small and dingy but, somehow, clean.

Levi dumped his backpack onto his bed.

“Right, kid, I'm going out for a bit. Stay in this room, okay?” Armin looked at him, eyes wide. He felt sudden panic at the thought of being left alone. _Stop being a baby,_ he berated himself.

“Where are you going?” he asked, trying to sound grown up and casual, hating how small his voice was. .

“I need to finish some business here before we can move on. You have anything to keep you occupied?”

Armin thought about his holograms back in his bedroom on Tatooine. They were probably burnt and gone.

He shook his head.

Levi rummaged through his bag, pulling out a hologram of his own. “Here,” he said, chucking it roughly onto Armin's bed. Armin picked it up, swiping through it.

“Books?”

“Can you read?” Levi asked, repacking some things into a smaller bag.

Armin swiped through the reading selection until he found something that interested him. “An Explanation of the Great Sith War,” he read out loud in response to the question.

“History,” Levi explained, checking over his blaster. Armin shrugged, lay on his bed and began to read.

Ten minutes later Levi seemed ready to move out. “I'm locking the door behind me,” he told Armin. The boy nodded, distracted by the book in front of him. He barely noticed the man leaving, a beep letting him know the door was locked.

A few hours passed, and Levi returned to find Armin with his hood pooled around his neck, his face and hand wrappings removed and in a neat pile beside him. He sat on the bed, knees against his chest, engrossed in the book.

Armin looked up and saw Levi taking in his appearance. He realised this was the first time the man had seen his face, and suddenly felt self-conscious. He bowed his head, his pale hair fell forward and hid his face from view.

“Enjoying the read?” Levi asked.

“I am,” Armin replied. He noticed a burn mark in Levi's jacket. “What's that from?” he asked warily.

Levi removed the jacket and appraised the burn mark. It had burnt a hole straight through. The shirt he was wearing underneath poked through the material. “Fuck,” he said simply. He folded it up and shoved it into his bag.

“Armin,” he began, his voice careful and casual, “do you know what bounty hunting is?”

Armin blinked, and nodded. “Is that what that's from?” he asked, nodding at the bag with the jacket now inside it.

“Yeah, the mark was armed and knew I was coming,” he said. He seemed annoyed at the memory.

Armin's voice broke. “Did … did you kill him?” he asked, his voice small.

A pause. “No,” was the reply, and it was easier to believe him than to doubt.

Levi moved his bags to the floor. “Armin, do you want to stick around?” he asked. The boy glanced down at the hologram in his hand. He thought back to the vegetable skewer, how Levi hadn’t held back on telling him about his past. Kindness and honesty. Rough around the edges, like white paper exposed to an open flame. He wondered if he would end up any differently.

“You don’t have to answer now,” Levi said, remembering the kid was eleven fucking years old.

Armin nodded, his fingers moving to his unwrapped hands out of habit, momentarily surprised at the feel of bare skin. He blinked at his hands. He was so pale, despite living in a desert all his life.

Armin did stay. A blank sheet of pure paper, exposed to a great fire and left to burn to ashes in the flames.

 

* * *

 

“So, what's with the name?” Eren asked as they walked towards the Hidden Bek base. Armin got the feeling he'd been waiting to ask the question, confirmed when Mikasa gave a weary sigh and put a palm across her forehead.

“The Mysterious Stranger?” he asked, trying to get confirmation two-fold. He wasn't sure if Eren remembered they had met before, long ago in rather different circumstances. It didn’t matter. Armin could see they were both different people, maturity and experience changing them.

“Yup,” he confirmed.

“A Hutt gave it to me,” he said, the corners of his mouth curling at the memory.

“You worked with those giant slugs?” Eren asked. He sounded surprised. Armin gave a short laugh. He wondered if bounty hunting for local crime lords counted as “work”.

“Yeah, kind of? But the original stage name was in Huttese. _Ba Azalas Ootmian_. It doesn't sound so lame in the other language, but I became sick of everyone expecting a giant slug to come slinking out onto the podium after every race. Hutts aren’t exactly known for their racing prowess, and I don't really want to be mistaken for a Hutt at the best of times.”

“What work did you do for them?”

Armin fixed a polite smile to his face as he considered how to answer the question. He doubted “bounty hunting and smuggling” would go down well with the Jedi. Then again, they were willing to work with the gangs…

“Eren, shut up,” Mikasa said simply, saving Armin from answering.

“Shit, sorry,” Eren muttered, realizing his mistake.

They stopped outside the entrance to the base. Armin noted with annoyance that the guards weren't present. Probably snuck off to the races.

“This is where I leave you. I've sent a message through, they're expecting you.” He gestured to the door. “Just walk through there, down the passage and to the right. You'll find the boss there.”

“Thanks,” Eren said, turning to leave.

“And I did bounty hunting and smuggling.”

“Huh?” Eren did a double take.

“ _Ba Azalas Ootmian_. There's more than one translation for that name. Just so you know what you're getting into. Make one wrong move in there, and you're dead. There are ways other than blasters to kill a Jedi.”

Eren was expressive for a Jedi, Armin noted. He found he could read him easily. The Jedi's face and body language communicated distrust and annoyance. Mikasa was passive and more difficult to read. Armin noted that she appeared to be more comfortable in this environment than Eren.

“Reassuring,” Eren said.

“Don't worry, neither of you has a price on your heads. I checked.”

“How kind.”

Armin bit his lip. “Good luck,” he finally gave, turned and walked away, leaving them to enter the base on their own. He didn't look back.

The official response from the Jedi Council to the Mandalorian threat was passivity. They insisted on sitting back and analyzing the situation, and yet the Jedi were here now, betting massive sums of money on random Tarisian swoop gangs and holding meetings with their leaders, claiming to be fighting the Mandalorians. It was bizarre, and it made Armin anxious.

He walked to his apartment, keeping his blaster within sight to dissuade anyone wanting to test their luck. His small frame, blonde hair and big blue eyes were often interpreted that he was a pushover, a misunderstanding that he was happy to disprove by placing a well-placed shot in the knee.

He arrived at his apartment with nothing significant happening along the way, and called up Levi.

He had to wait a minute before he saw Levi's figure projected in front of him, dressed in full Republic uniform. He grinned at his old guardian.

“Hey, Levi,” he said, waving lamely. Levi rolled his eyes.

“What is it?”

“Good mood, huh?” Armin teased.

He got a glare in return. Armin held his hands up by way of placation.

“There are Jedi here,” he said, jumping straight into business.

“Yeah, I know.”

Armin waited for explanation.

“Classified?” he prompted. Levi ran a hand through his hair.

“Fuck… no. But sensitive. A group of Jedi have split off and joined the war against the wishes of the Council.”

Armin raised an eyebrow, but allowed Levi to continue without interruption.

“They're currently travelling and recruiting those not stationed on Coruscant. Force knows if they'll actually find more people.”

“How many split?”

“Around twenty.”

Armin bit his lip, thinking.

“What?” Levi asked, breaking his thoughts.

“Remember Tatooine?” Armin asked.

“I try not to.”

“Well, Erwin's apprentices are here. They actually approached me.”

“Do they know who you are?”

“No.”

“Huh,” Levi said.

“I'm going to join them, Levi.”

Levi folded his arms. “Why?”

Armin didn't really know, himself. “Just a feeling,” he gave.

“Fucking hell, Armin.” Levi muttered.

Armin grinned at him. “Maybe it's the Force.”

“You don't believe in the Force. You're full of shit, you know that? What makes you think the Jedi even want you?”

“I'll think of something,”

“So, you're just going to up and join the Republic? What about your racing career?”

“I'll put it on hold for a little bit,” Armin gave, biting his lip. He forced himself to stop, it was a bad nervous habit that gave his thoughts away.

“You did the same thing,” he said, trying to convince himself as well.

“What, to give up my glorious career in bounty hunting? It wasn't sustainable, and you know it.”

Armin did know. He knew from observation, and from experience. He also knew Levi was exactly where he wanted to be. He worked well in the Republic, rising quickly through the ranks. Armin wished he had that kind of skill, but he had to admit to himself that he wasn`t great in a fight when facing more than two targets. He had succeeded as a bounty hunter through stealth, wits and pure luck. _Ba Azalas Ootmian. The Mysterious Stranger,_ or, _The Dangerous Outlander_ , the Hutts had called him. But that was an entirely different matter to the Republic. He doubted he would even get through basic training. He wanted to help the Jedi against the Mandalorians, but maybe he didn't have to fight to do that. Jedi were often put on special assignments, perhaps he could be unofficial help.

"Armin?"

He realised he was leaving Levi hanging. “Sorry, I spaced out there. I'll contact you when I can.”

“I'm being deployed in two weeks,” Levi warned.

“Before that, then,” he smiled.

Levi glared at him, awkward. He got like this when he tried to show people he cared about them. He hadn't quite gotten the hang of it yet.

“I'll be safe,” Armin teased.

“I hate you.”

He grinned at him, and Levi cut the call, leaving Armin staring at the empty space that Levi's image had occupied a few seconds previously.

He sat on the bed and pulled out his share of the winnings from the race that day. “The Tarisian Season Opener,” he said to himself, smiling with a small hint of pride. Years ago, he never could have imagined even attending as a spectator, and now he was winning the damn thing.

Now he was about to throw it all away, and for what? A chance to exact vengeance for his parents? Was he so petty that he couldn't let go of what happened all those years ago, with no chance of finding the people who actually did it.

He thought he was past this. He had let go of everything that had happened, and was determined to move on. He had been given the opportunity to join the Republic years before, and he turned it down. He couldn't do this now, he was the most promising racer in the galaxy.

He jumped from his bed and, hating himself, began to pack his belongings. It wasn't much. Clothes, blasters, dried food. He liked to travel light. He'd have to leave his bike on planet, he realised like a punch in the gut. All that training, all that work he did on that bike. What a waste of time.

He ran all the way to base, praying the Jedi hadn't left. He opened the door to Pixis' office without knocking and nearly ran straight into the leader himself.

“Ah, sorry!” he apologized, wheezing from running too far. He bent over and put a hand to his side, nursing a stitch.

“Stranger, we were just talking about you. We were just discussing your fine win at the race,” he nodded to the Jedi, who stood a little to the side. Eren had an eyebrow raised.

Armin took a deep breath, trying to get his breathing back to a normal pace. “My bike,” he wheezed, barely getting the words out. The three others in the room glanced at each other. “Pardon?” Pixis asked, patting Armin on the back in a poor attempt to bring Armin's breathing back to normal.

He raised a reassuring hand, and forced himself upright. “My bike,” he repeated.

“Your bike is exceptional but we all know it's the driver who…”

“No,” Armin shook his head, blushing slightly at interrupting his boss. He pointed at Eren and Mikasa. “I will give the Hidden Beks my bike if you release me from my contract early to join them.” To his annoyance, Eren started laughing. Mikasa elbowed him in the ribs, her expression serious.

“I have a ship,” he told them, “I can speak ten languages, plus Basic. I can use firearms and I know all refugee and smuggling routes. I have contacts, and I can find anyone. I know where the Jedi you're looking for are,” he added, his heart in his throat. He swallowed thickly, glancing at Pixis who looked very alarmed. “Ser,” he added, turning to him, remembering he had two sets of people to convince, “the Hidden Beks don't need me to win. They need that bike. You have other racers that are far better than myself.”

Pixis looked at him, then back to the Jedi. He slapped Armin's back, who yelped from a combination of pain and surprise. _Nice_ , Armin thought, _I'm sure that convinced them of my usefulness._

“Lad and lass, I hope you realize just exactly what this young man is offering. I suggest you take him up on it.” Armin looked up at him, wide eyed.

“We can't just take a gang member with us!” Eren protested, crossing his arms irritably.

 _Like an open book_ , Armin thought with amusement.

“Eren,” Mikasa said, her voice quiet. “I think we should consider it.” She turned to Armin. “Why do you want to come with?”

“I want to help.”

“Why?” she pressed. Armin decided it was best to tell as much of the truth as possible without revealing his exact origins.

“I haven't always lived on Taris,” he said, heart racing, “I've seen what the Mandalorians do to the worlds they conquer.”

“So you want vengeance?”

“… No. I don't want anyone else to go through what I did,” he explained. Mikasa and Eren exchanged a look.

“Stranger, we're going to have to ask our leader but I'm not going to turn down an offer of help,” Eren told him. Armin had to admit he was surprised, and couldn't stop a grin from crossing his face.

“Stranger,” Pixis said, clearing his throat. “Your bike will be here when you return,” he said, his expression serious, but his eyes kind. “T-thanks, ser!” Armin said, giving him a smile. He turned to the Jedi. “Shall we find the rest of your fellows and get to those missing Jedi?” he proposed.

Eren nodded and turned to Pixis. “We thank the Hidden Beks for their help,” and gave him a small bow. Pixis waved it off, “Always happy to help in a crisis. Things are tough down here, but it would be far worse if the Mandalorians invaded,” he said. He turned to Armin. “Stay safe, we can't lose our star racer. If I hear you've signed up with another team, I'll put a price on your head so large every bounty hunter on the Outer Rim will be after you.”

“I wouldn't expect any less,” Armin said, giving a faint smile, not really believing him.

“Let's go,” Mikasa said, and Armin left the base for the last time, this time in the company of two Jedi.

“So, any idea of where we're heading next?” Armin asked them. Mikasa glanced at him.

“We're splitting off from the main group after this. That's why you may be permitted to travel with us, especially as you have your own ship. Your skills solve a lot of problems we would've had.”

“We're either going to Nar Shadaa, or Telos,” Eren added.

Armin laughed. Nar Shadaa was a hole filled with refugees, metal, sewerage and Hutt slime. Telos was nigh on a paradise, the agricultural jewel of the Outer Rim. “Big difference between those two,” he told them. “Hope for Telos.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I`m looking for a beta reader for this work, so if you`re interested please message me either here or on tumblr!  
> My URL is http://crashes-to-desktop.tumblr.com/  
> I`m feeling pretty overwhelmed by the reception for this fic, I`m so happy that so many readers seem to like it!!  
> Comments and kudos make my day ^^


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *prays desperately that I`ve kept Armin`s damn fake name consistent*
> 
> Yeah, so Azalas is Armin. His name is a secret for reasons.

* * *

 

_Eyes forward, focus on breathing. Life creates the Force, the unbreakable bond. There is no death, there is the Force._

Eren repeated this mantra, trying to focus and not to allow his emotions to run wild. Nar Shadaa was difficult. It was as if there were a thousand crying people, all clawing for his attention. He felt his focus being pulled in a hundred different directions, and it gave him a headache. He didn`t know where to turn. Mikasa seemed to be having similar troubles as her eyes narrowed. She locked onto the ground in front of her, massaging her temples.

Maybe it was a good idea to bring the racer with after all. Eren glanced at him from the corner of his eye. He was bartering with a man at a stall selling some sort of food, and he seemed utterly unaffected by the energy of Nar Shadaa. He was calm, collected and felt like a foil to Eren`s frayed nerves.

He also was a complete unknown, a fact that Eren didn`t like at all. For one, he refused to reveal his real name, telling him he went by his given name for a reason. Of course, he hadn`t divulged said reason, and so Eren just decided to call him Azalas. The bastard had wrinkled his nose at that, but didn`t protest further. Mikasa elbowed Eren in the ribs for that, but the name stuck and by the time they had arrived at Nar Shadaa she was referring to him by the name as well. Hutt name or no, Eren thought it sounded better than calling him Stranger.

Name aside, Eren also found that the man was completely unreadable. Eren found it difficult enough to get a gauge on how other people were feeling at the best of times, but with the help of the Force he was able to do it with a little effort, allowing their emotions to wash over him like a cloud of perfume.

This guy, however, was impossible. It was like there was a block made specifically for the Jedi, the Force just didn`t exist around him. Everyone knew that the Force was connected to everyone, it was the source of life. But it felt like it not only had disconnected from this guy, but that he was actively blocking it, something even a Jedi couldn`t do. Even inanimate objects had a connection to the Force. Rather, it was as if he didn`t exist. Eren had probed and prodded and once tried to force his thoughts out, but he may as well have been asking the sky to open.

He would have just blamed his failure for his own shortcomings in terms of the Force, but Mikasa had tried as well at Eren`s behest, only to be met with the same results. She had frowned at that, but said they would figure it out once they knew the man better.

They did tell Ewin, though. Their teacher had decided to join the rebel Jedi out of a sense of duty and curiosity. He had warned them that there was something bigger afoot than warring Mandalorians.

Mikasa had argued that it was exactly that fact that had kept the Council from interfering in the war in the first place, and Erwin had told them that he would rather root it our than to wait around passively. Eren found himself agreeing with him. Mikasa remained unreadable, her expression carefully passive as always.

Erwin was puzzled by the racer`s connection to the Force (or lack of it) and told them it would be for the best to allow Azalas to stick around to find out just what was going on. Eren agreed, seeing no other option. Azalas had been to Nar Shadaa before, and his knowledge would be invaluable.

Azalas had laughed when they had been assigned Nar Shadaa. Thankfully, they had told him on his ship when they had received clearance to leave. Eren didn`t think seeing a bounty hunter slash gang racer laughing at their leader`s plan would put the man in a very good light. Azalas didn`t seem to care of the Jedi`s opinion of him, though.

The man was confident, and for good reason, Eren found. His ship, the Ebon Hawke, was lightweight and surprisingly nimble for a ship of its size. It didn`t take much investigation to discover that it was, in fact a smuggler vessel. Upon being informed of this fact, Azalas had shrugged and told him that, smuggling aside, it was the fastest ship in the galaxy. Eren had doubted it until Azalas flew them out of the port, outrunning the Republic ships that were also leaving the planet.

Nar Shadaa was, all at once, uncomfortable. He could feel it from the moment they had entered the system, and desperately hoped that it was coming off the main planet, Nal Hutta. Of course, it hadn`t. The disturbing atmosphere was radiating from the moon instead.

It was worse than the Lower Cities of Taris. The war was obvious here, with thousands of refugees from the Outer Rim having fled to the moon. The trio docked at a landing pad that appeared to be reserved for the sole use of Azalas, and were instantly met by the hordes of people as they left the dock. It was intense, it was frightening, and Eren had a sudden realization of the gravity of his decision.

They reached the refugee sector, where most of the population were packed in a massive district. Eren struggled to control his anger he felt at the knowledge that their leaders, the Jedi Council, the ones who were supposed to protect the galaxy from this sort of thing, were sitting at their High Temple in Coruscant, so far away. Despite being overwhelmed by the emotions of the victims of this war, Eren felt glad to be doing something to help.

“That`s why we`re here,” Azalas told him. Eren blinked. He hadn`t realised he`d voiced his thoughts.

The blonde nodded ahead at the market which lay in front of them. “I`ll get us some food,” he promised, and left the two Jedi on their own to struggle with the currents of the moon.

Assess the Mandalorian threat. That had been their mission when they had been ordered to this moon. After arriving, Eren could see why. The place was teeming with refugees, surely some of them would be willing to share their experiences. Weapons, tactics, looting, any information would be helpful. He flicked his lightsaber that hung off his belt, knocking it back and forth, trying to focus on it instead of the currents pulling him in a hundred different directions. His skin prickled, and he suddenly felt exposed, as if someone was watching them.

He looked up to see Azalas waiting in line, looking in his direction. Their eyes met, and the other man smiled and waved at him. His hand smacked the back of the head of a person standing next to him. He turned to him, eyes wide in horror as he gestured apologetically. Eren fought off a smile. He still couldn`t believe that this innocent looking man barely out of his teenage years had been a bounty hunter and was a galaxy renowned racer.

Clearly, though, he knew what he was doing. As he returned bearing vegetable skewers (promising that they didn`t want to know what went into the meat skewers), he pointed over at the person he had smacked and informed them that the man and his friend were willing to share their experiences of the Mandalorian Wars. Eren glanced over at the man, who made eye contact with him. Eren tried to concentrate, but couldn`t get a gauge on him. The man smiled at Eren, which he returned. He looked back at Azalas, who then calmly informed him that the meeting was a trap.

“What?” he asked blankly, while the other man calmly stuffed a piece of vegetable in his mouth. He shrugged. “It`s a trap,” he said, then swallowed. He pulled another chunk off the skewer. “They`ve been following us since we arrived on planet. They were staring at you guys the entire time while I was getting food. They were very eager to share their story with The Mysterious Stranger,” he popped the vegetable in his mouth and gestured for them to eat. Mikasa took a chunk of charred vegetable off the skewer with delicate fingers and popped it into her mouth. She smiled. “It`s nice,” she informed Azalas. He grinned. “Right?”

Eren was trying hard not to look at the trio that was still looking at them. Azalas twirled the finished skewer in between his fingers. “Apparently they`re big fans of swoop racing,” he said, casual and conversational. “Such big fans, in fact, that they asked for an autograph. Apparently, they didn`t get the chance to at the Taris Season Opener., and yet,” he added, holding the stick between two hands in front of him, “they had eyes only for you, even while I was standing right next to them in plain sight. They only engaged me after I became physical.” There was a small crack as the snapped the stick in two.

“There are two explanations,” he continued, “one: they are simple refugees, desperate for the help of the Jedi. Or, and this is far more likely, you now have a bounty on your head and they want to collect.”

Eren tried to keep his expression neutral and his temper cool, but between the running currents and being caught in some stupid bounty hunting war he felt his control slipping.

“A bounty? Why would we have a bounty? Can`t you do something about that?” he hissed, trying not to shout. “We need to eliminate this problem now,” Mikasa said, offering her opinion for the first time.

Azalas blinked at her. “What do you think we should do?” he asked.

“If they`re bounty hunters, why didn`t they recognize you? I thought all bounty hunters know their competition.” Her voice was calm, not giving away any emotion. Eren found himself envying her once again.

 _Stop that_ , he told himself.

“Only the good ones,” Azalas said, a shy smile crossing his face, and Eren had a sudden realization that a lot of this man`s confidence was largely bluster. He wondered if there was more than what he was giving away, when he noticed the group approaching them. Both Jedi looked over at them and slowly moved their hands to their lightsabers.

Azalas didn`t fail to notice the movement. “Are they coming here?” he asked, not turning around, stowing his broken skewer into a pocket to be disposed of later. Eren wondered how he could stay so casual.

“Yeah,” Mikasa muttered, her eyes hard.

The men were almost upon them, and Eren noted them drawing their blasters.

 _Fuck_ , he thought, drawing his lightsaber but not turning it on. Azalas was in the process of turning around when chaos erupted.

“You bastards!” a voice rang through the air as the men were suddenly tackled to the floor. Their blasters went sliding across the floor towards them. Azalas casually kicked them behind him, out of reach of the bounty hunters, watching the scuffle on the floor with an amused look on his face.

Not sure of what to do, Eren stepped forward. “Ummm..” he said to no one in particular.

“There!” one of the fighters declared, dusting off her hands and looking at her handiwork. The bounty hunter was lying on the floor, his hands tied up and a gag in his mouth. “Oooh, he`s glaring at me something fierce. How`s it going your side, Connie?” she asked, looking over her shoulder at her partner, who was currently securing a gag onto the second bounty hunter.

“All good here!” he called back, standing up. He looked around. “Where did that slacker get to?” he asked.

“We must have left him behind,” she giggled. She looked up at the trio, who were looking down at them. Azalas` eyes twinkled with amusement while Eren`s brain was struggling to catch up. He glanced at Mikasa, who simply seemed relieved to have the danger pass.

Eren was surprised to see that a crowd hadn`t gathered to watch the fight. When he voiced his thoughts, Azalas laughed. “This kind of thing happens all the time,” he explained, holding out a hand to the Zabrak woman, who took it gladly. He pulled her to her feet.

“Thanks for the help,” he said brightly. She grinned.

“No problem!” she said, “I hate bounty hunters.” If Azalas was offended, he did a good job of hiding it. She continued, “Saw them from a mile away, they were trailing you from the space port. Connie and I wanted to make sure you guys would be ok, but we just had to step in when they drew their blasters.” She held out a hand.

“Sasha Braus,” she introduced herself. She gestured to her friend. “This is Connie. Proud owners of our recently acquired freedom,” she added, her grin growing wider. Eren instantly liked her. Her enthusiasm and positive energy was refreshing on this horror of a moon.

They were interrupted by a tall man running up to them, sorely out of breath. He was dressed in clothes that looked like they were scavenged from five different planets. His boots looked old and worn out, his hat frayed and shabby.

He bent over to catch his breath, then looked up at his friends.

“I hate you guys,” he told the pair, then noticed the bounty hunters lying on the floor. He groaned. “Why do you always find trouble?” he asked, burying his head in his hands. Connie patted him on the back sympathetically. “Don`t worry dude, they were easy to take down. Not professional in the slightest.” Connie winced slightly as the man screamed into his hands.

“And this is Jean,” Sasha added, gesturing to the man with a flourish. When Jean raised his head, his expression had calmed.

“Sorry,” he added, and took a deep breath. “I apologise for these two.”

Jean`s eyes darted to Eren`s lightsaber, which was still in his hand. His eyes narrowed and Eren felt anger rising at his accusing glare. Problem after problem.

“What are two Jedi doing on Nar Shadaa?” he asked. His tone got on Eren`s nerves. “We`re here about the war,” he said, trying to remove any irritation from his voice.

Jean scoffed. “Please, the Jedi don`t care. The Mandalorians know that. The Jedi are all alone, high and mighty in their temples in the Core Worlds. Cowards,” he spat.

“Eren,” Mikasa said in warning, not even needing to look at him to know he was on the verge of knocking out this idiot. He didin`t know if he was angry because he was being insulted, or because Eren had been thinking the same thing earlier, and knew he was right.

“This is why we don`t take you out,” Sasha muttered. Connie stifled a laugh.

“Why do you care?” Mikasa asked, her voice careful.

Jean gave a harsh laugh and gestured around him. “I live the consequences of this stupid war every single day .Can`t you feel it in this moon? It`s spreading at an unstoppable rate, and your Republic won`t be able to stop it.”

“Sounds personal,” Azalas said, speaking for the first time since the other three had arrived.

Jean blinked at him. “It is,” he said simply.

“The Jedi have entered the war,” Eren told him, feeling satisfaction from the shock on the man`s face. “We`re here for information.”

“Information on the Mandalorians?” Jean asked. Eren nodded, and noticed Sasha and Connie sharing a look, their expressions suddenly serious.

“Shit,” Jean said, rubbing the back of his head. He looked around, as if nervous of people listening. “That`s all you want? Information?”

 

The three nodded. Jean looked back at Sasha and Connie, seemingly at a loss. They shrugged.

He turned back to them. “Look, I can give you guys info, but I can`t get more involved than that. Can we meet up in the cantina tonight?”

“Sounds dodgy,” Eren said, wrinkling his nose.

“Sounds good. When?” Azalas asked.

“Azalas!” Eren protested, but was silenced with a glare from Mikasa.

“Meet you there,” Jean pointed. The cantina was a few hundred metres behind them, “at eight. Peak time.”

Azalas nodded in agreement, then promptly turned and walked away, leaving Mikasa and Eren no choice but to follow. Eren realised he was still holding his skewer. It was still warm.

“Do you trust him?” he asked their guide once they got a good distance away.

“No,” was the reply, “but we`re going to meet them anyway.”

“Think they`re bounty hunters?”

“No.”

“Well, that`s wonderful,” Eren sighed.

“We still need to clear up that bounty on your heads,” Azalas reminded him. Eren groaned.

 

* * *

 

The energy of the moon was beginning to take a toll on Eren, and by the time the rendezvous time arrived he felt exhausted. They had booked a hotel despite having an entire ship to stay in. He didn`t question it, realizing their guide knew what he was doing.

To his great surprise, Jean, Sasha and Connie met them at the time arranged. The Zabraks looked melancholic, a strong contrast to their attitudes a few hours before.

“So, Jean,” Eren had begun when it became clear no one was going to open conversation. Azalas was oddly quiet, glaring at Jean with coldness in his eyes. Eren found it odd, and resolved to ask him about it later.

“What is your relationship with the Mandalorians?” That seemed like a good place to begin.

Jean sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. Whatever he wanted to say appeared to be difficult to get out.

“Look, I haven`t been entirely honest to you guys, but you have to swear not to kill me in the middle of this cantina.” Eren raised an eyebrow at that, liking this less and less. Azalas` glare darkened to something that bordered on terrifying. He focused on Jean, who seemed apprehensive but not frightened.

The man took a deep breath.

“My name is Jean, of Clan Ordo, warrior of the Mandalorian people.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Kudos and comments are life and fuel this fic.  
> Feedback is most welcome :o)


	6. Chapter 6

Jean had never known his parents. He had faded, monochrome memories of a woman with strong arms and a booming voice that sometimes echoed through his memories. He remembered her with meals that made him warm, hints of happiness, but the emotions were worn and faded from both time and overuse. They were overstretched and, in the few times Jean had tried to recall the thing called a mother`s love, the emotions he must have experienced in his memories were so faint that they were barely worth mentioning.

In place of soft memories, he had lived the life of a warrior. There was no place in such a life for the coddling of parents. His father had never been a factor at all, his mother now barely worth mentioning. He was not unique. His experience mirrored that of every other Mandalorian, and it was never questioned. It gave them greater focus, and those around him in battle were far greater brothers and sisters than any blood line could provide.

How terrible it was, then, to suddenly realize that his way of life was not the de facto of the rest of the galaxy, suddenly so far from home, with not another Mandalorian around. He was all of a sudden forced to realize that that his experience of life was so very different from the norm.

The galaxy, and he hated the analogy, was so very alien, and he was horrified by how unequipped he was to face it. The Mandalorians sought a glorious battle, and the galaxy would be speaking Mandalorian if they remained unopposed. He had been a fool. He had thought theirs was the best, the only way of thinking and, in the wake of finding everything he thought important utterly destroyed, he hated himself for it.

Surrounded by strangers, he found himself filled with fear. Fear was a weakness, and the lowest of emotions a Mandalorian could feel. To be guided by fear was to be guided to death, to dishonour. He had spent his life denouncing fear, yet now he found his actions dictated by the accursed emotion, every cell in his body screaming at him in protest.

Yet, he couldn`t deny nor ignore it. It pulsed through his veins, imbued in his very blood, contaminating his body further with each beat of his traitorous heart.

The source of this fear was simple: he didn`t know how to act. Everything was so different, he was a sudden stranger to social etiquette, and suddenly every gesture, every glance and every moment of eye contact marked him as Mandalorian for all to see. He had no idea what he was doing and, in a hateful moment, he found himself wishing he had just stayed inside his blasted tent that night.

_Stop it_ , he had told himself. _You`ve made your choice._

Despite his wishing from the more pathetic part of his personality, he didn`t regret his decision in the slightest. Sasha`s words had hit him hard. He had been searching for an opportunity to leave. Cathar had been the end for him, the death of a race spreading to his mind, rotting his beliefs and values. Everything he did was wrong, and he knew he could never atone and so he did what was the height of dishonour in Mandalorian society: he ran away.

He couldn`t let himself think of it. He had to survive and, to do that, he found himself relying on Sasha and Connie far more than he had expected.

It was Connie who had suggested Nar Shadaa. Sasha had half heartedly agreed. Jean had vehemently protested.

“Jean,” Sasha said, weariness heavy in her voice, “no one actually wants to go to Nar Shadaa.”

“We`re broke, have nowhere to stay, we have no food and Onderon is soon going to become a war zone,” Connie said, raising a finger with each item added to the list.

Jean had scowled, then sold his fighter for credits to buy them passage to Nar Shadaa, reasoning that it would be better to be rid of it and avoid being tracked down, something Sasha and Connie insisted would be impossible after passing through the Hutt moon.

Jean was not at all eager to go anywhere near Hutt territory, but he had to admit that he could breathe easier once they had entered the refugee sector. It would be nigh on impossible for anyone to hunt them down in the masses of people.

“Jeanny-boy, this is all well and good, just don`t advertise the fact that you`re a M-A-N-D-“

“Oh, shut up, Sasha, I`m not an idiot,” he snapped, rising to the bait and feeling his irritation grow as the pair dissolved into giggles. He resisted the urge to punch them, his fingers twitching to his blaster, which he had decided to keep.

Everything had been going well, until the pair had taken off in pursuit of bounty hunters, of all things.

Jean wasn`t concerned about a lousy pair of bounty hunters (and they were lousy if a pair of slaves could recognize them), but he was concerned about their quarry, as they seemed to know that they were being tracked.

A Twi`lek and two humans. The Twi`lek and one of the humans didn`t appear to be armed, but the second human carried a blaster in full view, clearly to challenge or deter. Jean found it laughable. Wide eyed and tiny, the boy`s presence was overwhelmed by that of his companions.

Which was why he felt so floored when he found himself under the scrutiny of those very same eyes that seemed to pierce straight through him. The boy`s expression hardened, as if he knew who he was immediately, and all of Jean`s careful measures of not being recognized were thrown out the window when he realised that this boy knew exactly what he was.

_It`s impossible_ , he thought, trying to control the panic rising in him that he hated. His eyes fell to the boy`s companions instead, and he almost laughed when he realised he was in the presence of two Jedi.

The boy`s gaze wouldn`t leave him though, and he quite suddenly found himself wanting to help the trio that stood in front of them.

“What the hell, Jean??” Connie had exclaimed later.

“You really are an idiot,” Sasha muttered under her breath, leaning against a section of wall, her arms crossed. Despite the fact that he agreed with them, he decided to argue.

“They know already,” Jean spat, leaning against the wall next to Sasha. “That blonde kid knows.”

“So?”

“So, he still agreed to meet us.”

Connie groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Please don`t tell me you`re doing this because of your conscience!”

“They`re going to think we`re Mandalorian and shoot us!” Sasha wailed, somehow keeping her voice down.

“You don`t need to come!” Jean snapped, his irritation rising with his voice.

Sasha giggled a little, her laugh humourless and instinctive. “No, we`re not splitting up,” she said, as if that was that.

“Fine, come, but don`t expect me to babysit you,” he said, determined to have the last word.

“I can take care of myself,” she said. He believed her. She was stronger than she looked, despite her carefree attitude.

Jean found his nerves to be a more powerful driving force than his fear of being caught, which was how they found themselves at the cantina half an hour before the meeting time. Sasha and Connie poured over the menu excitedly whilst Jean looked around, taking in the cantina.

Sprawling over a large area, the cantina was massive and appeared to be one of the primary areas for entertainment in the district. Despite the fact it was close to the refugee sector, it was packed, luring in crowds with the promise of cheap booze and dancing. Advertisements flashed in bright neon lettering, both outside the cantina and in, trying to attract customers for strip shows, gambling and live music performances. Jean hadn`t really paid attention to any of it, both out of a lack of interest and his nerves getting the better for him, and they were just getting worse, feeling panic slowly take over as the smell of smoke and noise of hundreds of people talking at once began to crush him.

Fear was confusing, and he was an idiot.

What exactly was he trying to do here? Did he really think that admitting a few plans and tactics to the Jedi would absolve him of any guilt or part of his role in Cathar? More likely they would attack. Jedi don`t kill their prisoners, Jean remembered, but that blonde kid didn`t look like a Jedi and he may not exercise the same policy, although Jean doubted the kid could take him down.

_Stop being such a baby_ , he berated himself. _You`re a trained warrior from the same people that have conquered the Outer Rim_.

“Hey, Jean,” Connie`s voice floated through his thoughts, pulling him out of his reverie. “Huh?” he asked. “Are you planning on telling them?” Jean didn`t ask for clarification. He shifted uncomfortably, trailing a finger up the glass of water that had been given to them by their waitress. His finger split the moisture that had built up, leaving a line down the side of the glass.

“I dunno. Maybe.”

The indecision in his voice grated him. He cleared his throat, speaking a little louder this time. “No, I`m not,” he said, his voice firm. He could feel his companions exchanging glances, but they didn`t say anything.

But then the trio arrived, led by their waitress who guided them to the booth they had occupied. They were there for less than a minute, but it was all Jean needed to know that the blonde sitting on the side knew who he was just from his glare. He also felt the anger coming off him, earning a few confused looks from the male Jedi sitting next to him.

As far as he could tell, he had two paths before him. He could cherry pick what information to give them, giving them just enough to satisfy them and to not raise their suspicions. This option had the most appeal to Jean, but the way the blonde was glaring at him suggested that he wouldn’t be able to get away with that.

“So, Jean.” The first Jedi began. Jean was surprised he remembered his name, then realised he didn`t know their names. _Nice disadvantage_ , he thought, annoyed at his blunder.

The Jedi began his questioning. “What is your relationship with the Mandalorians?”

_Oh, this was going to be good_ , Jean thought, pinching the bridge of his nose to steady his nerves. He had to word this very carefully.

“Look, I haven`t been entirely honest to you guys, but you have to swear not to kill me in the middle of this cantina.” The Jedi looked curious, but didn`t say anything, waiting for him to continue. Jean tried to ignore the glare coming from their companion, his stare appearing only to intensify. He refused to be intimidated, and nothing was going to take away his ownership of his mistakes. He didn`t need the glare of a stranger to make himself feel bad.

_So, you`re really going to do this_ , his mouth as dry as his thoughts.

Sasha and Connie were going to hate him forever. Praying that the Jedi would be able to hold back their friend who looked ready to kill, he took a deep breath.

“My name is Jean, of Clan Ordo, warrior of the Mandalorian people.”

The way the male Jedi choked on his drink was almost funny, counterbalanced by the reaction of their blonde companion, who stood up. Jean moved his hand to his blaster,　but the other merely tapped the safety seal on his own blaster. Once certain it was in place, he tossed it onto the table between them. It landed onto the table roughly, bouncing slightly on the cold metal.

“I need some air,” he announced, and motioned to his companion sitting on the end to move. Coughing, the Jedi slid out of his seat while the blonde shuffled out of the booth, striding out of sight.

Jean glanced at his companions while the Jedi returned to his seat. They did not look impressed.

“Just so you know,” Sasha said, her hand up, “me and Connie aren`t Mandalorians.”

She looked at Jean. “Tell them,” she prompted.

He looked back at the Jedi whom, to their credit, seemed to be calm. “Technically, I`m not Mandalorian either,” he said with a sigh.

“That`s obvious,” the Twi`lek said, speaking for the first time. Jean blinked.

“You`re very far from Mandalorian space. Talking to two Jedi.” She leaned forward, resting her chin on a hand. “Why did you desert?” she asked.

The truth, Jean reminded himself.

“Cathar,” he said, his voice catching.

“Cathar?” the other Jedi asked.

Jean tapped his foot against the floor, nerves rising.

“Look, if you want me to tell you anything, I want to know your names,” he told them.

The Jedi opened their mouths to speak, but someone answered first.

“Why?”

Jean looked up to see that their blonde companion had returned. _Who is this guy_ , he thought irritably.

“You know my name,” he answered, leaning back in his seat and folding his arms, glaring at the boy as he slid back into his seat.

“Not our fault,” the other replied coolly, picking his blaster up from the table, placing it onto his lap, out of sight. Jean had no doubt it was trained on him.

He ran a hand through his hair in frustration.

“Ok, fine,” he conceded, reached for his blaster and placed it on the table.

“See?” he said, “I`m unarmed. I promise I`m not lying. I have everything to lose here. You said you wanted information.”

The man opposite him bit his lip and averted his eyes, deferring to the decision of the Jedi.

Of course, they had taken his offer. He had far more to offer than any other refugee, after all.

He told them everything, of Cathar, of the plans of the Mandalorians. The Jedi listened carefully, taking it all in, Sasha and Connie occasionally adding extra detail that Jean left out. He told them their story of escape, of Jean`s determination to make up for his past transgressions.

They had listened, their faces carefully schooled to neutral expressions. The blonde one frowned at the table as he took in the story, his blaster still pointed at Jean underneath the table.

Finally, he finished.

“Shit,” the male Jedi muttered, glaring into his glass of water. His partner cleared her throat.

“Mikasa,” she said, holding out her hand across the table in greeting. Jean looked at it for a moment, unsure, when Connie took it, shaking it firmly. Jean did the same, copying the gesture. Her hand was warm, her grip firm but gentle. He felt heat rise to his face.

“Eren,” Mikasa`s fellow Jedi said, introducing himself. He didn`t offer his hand.

Their blonde companion, however, offered his hand in a sudden change of mood. “Azalas,” he said, holding out his hand.

Jean scoffed. “Bullshit,” he said, taking the hand nonetheless to shake it. The blonde nigh on crushed his hand, but Jean didn`t so much as wince.

“That`s mean. Why do you say that?” Azalas asked, his voice light and casual, a sad contrast to his angry grip. “That`s a Hutt name,” Jean replied, breathing out in relief as the crushing grip on his hand was released. The kid was stronger than he looked.

“Yeah, well, we can`t all have the luxury of using our birth names,” the other replied, his tone light and conversational, a small smile on his face, his blue eyes cold. Despite his demeanor, he had clearly not been won over. He moved to shake Sasha`s hand. Jean noted their handshake was far gentler than theirs had been.

“Jean,” Mikasa said, “we`d like the opportunity to talk again.”

She stood up, the other two following. “We`ll be in contact,” she said and, just like that, they left, leaving the three alone at the booth.

“That was weird,” Sasha said, breaking the silence. Jean silently agreed.

“Think we should meet them again?” Connie asked.

Jean shrugged. “It`s our best chance of getting off this rock,” he muttered. Sasha mumbled in agreement.

“Anyway, it didn`t sound like we had much of a choice,” he continued, standing up. The other two followed, and they left the cantina to make their way back to the refugee sector, Jean cursing himself as he once again wondered what the hell he had gotten himself into.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the delay, I had a super busy week.  
> Thank you so much for all the lovely comments and kudos, they are pretty much the only reason this gets written at all!   
> Feedback is appreciated!   
> I`m still looking for a beta reader, as you can see, this fic is in desperate need of one! Contact me here or on tumblr!   
> Once again, thank you so much for reading! ^^,


	7. Chapter 7

Mornings had always been difficult for Levi. He would toss and turn for hours in fitful wakefulness, unable to find relief no matter his location. After hours of this, he would finally fall asleep, only to be woken around two hours later. He`d be exhausted throughout the day, only to find sleep unwilling to co-operate once night fell.

Insomnia became an unlikely ally when Armin came into his life. The boy often fell asleep almost immediately, but a few hours later he would be awake, tormented by his nightmares. Insomnia meant there would always be someone there when Armin awoke. Levi would hold him while the boy cried into his shoulder until the tears stopped, the air quiet. Armin would withdraw, embarrassed, and they would talk until it the world stirred around them. “It`s daytime somewhere,” Levi would tell him when Armin expressed guilt for keeping him up.

The first night had been one of the worst. Sore and dusty from that forsaken dustball of a planet, Levi sat in the cargo hold with Armin and a crowd of strangers. Levi had a seat of his own on the ship, but bringing an extra passenger on board was taboo, and he found himself relegated to the cargo hold with the rest of the refugees escaping the fire that was now their home. He didn`t mind. There was no way he was leaving a scared child on his own.

The kid had nodded, sullen, finding his own patch of floor. Levi sat next to him, and they began their journey in silence.

After several hours in that dusty hold, Levi accepted that sleep was unattainable.

The kid`s face wasn’t visible through the head wrappings and hood, but judging from his steady breathing, Armin had fallen asleep rather easily. Silence fell as time lulled people to sleep.

It didn`t take long for the whimpers to break the silence. They were soft at first, with long moments of silence hanging heavy between them. They grew louder within minutes, until Armin screamed.

“Shit,” Levi muttered, leaning over to shake the boy`s shoulder to no avail.

“Shut the fuck up!” someone shouted. Levi gritted his teeth, his patience wearing thin. He scooped the boy up, who continued to scream.

“I said shut the fuck up!” the voice repeated.

“Fuck off,” Levi snarled at the room, before striding out with the sobbing boy in his arms.

Levi grit his teeth, trying to think of where they could go where Armin wouldn`t wake half the ship. “Shit,” he muttered, coming to a door that required a security code to open. Punching in the code, the door opened, and he stole inside to a mercifully empty engine room. The door closed behind him, and he lay the sobbing boy onto the floor against the wall. He knelt in front of him.

“Armin,” he said sharply, placing his hands on the boy`s shoulders, giving him a firm shake. He boy`s hood had slipped off, revealing wrappings that neatly tucked away any hair from sight. Complex patterns were stitched and painted into the wrappings, and Levi felt a sudden pang for this boy who had just lost everything. He killed it immediately. He couldn`t afford sympathy.

Armin`s eyes were visible now that his hood had fallen. They scrunched as he screamed again.

“Armin!” he said again, shaking him a little more sharply until the boy`s eyes snapped opened, blue stained with panic, his breathing shallow.

“Levi?” he asked, before he burst into tears.

Levi allowed the boy to slouch forward and bury his head in his chest, crying weary and heartbroken tears, sobs tearing his voice into tiny pieces that shattered in the air. Levi put his arms around the child, wishing desperately that this boy could have someone better than him to dry his tears.

Not for the first time, Levi felt a rush of anger at Erwin. He must not have been thinking at all, throwing this boy at him on a whim. Bounty hunting profession aside, anyone who looked at him could see that Levi was terrible parent material. He had never wanted it, and now suddenly he had a traumitised kid to look after.

Time passed, and the boy`s crying eventually quietened. He sniffled and leaned back against the wall, rubbing an eye. Levi eased his rucksack off his back, placing it on the floor beside him. Rummaging through it, he extracted a packet of tissues. He pulled one out and held it to the boy`s nose.

“Blow,” he said, and the boy complied, his hand replacing Levi`s. He lowered his hand, curled around the tissue, into his lap.

Sniffling, he stared into his lap, mumbling something to it.

“What?” Levi asked.

Silence, then, “I don`t know what to do with it,” he mumbled in a quiet voice, wobbly from crying and clenching the used tissue in his hand.

Levi suppressed a sigh and uncurled Armin`s fingers, taking the tissue and placing it in his bag to be disposed of later. Armin blinked at his lap, head bowed, wiping away leftover tears with his sleeve and replacing his bandages over his nose.

Levi shifted his position, seating himself next to Armin and leaning against the wall.

“How old are you?” he asked.

“Eleven,” the boy mumbled.

“Huh,” was the reply. An awkward moment passed. Levi cursed Erwin.

“Pathetic.” The word clung to the air, ugly and rotten.

“Pardon?” Levi asked, looking at the boy from the corner of his eye.

“I`m pathetic,” Armin repeated, louder this time.

“Not really…” Levi replied, unsure of how to respond.

“I am!” Armin said, nearly shouting now. His voice cracked and he looked up at Levi in desperation, as if he held all the answers to why he was in pain. He could see the boy was trying to hold back fresh tears, a losing battle.

“Don`t lie to me and say I`m not, I know I am!” he shouted. His cries of pain echoed off the hard metal, clanging in the shadows. Levi waited until the sobbing quietened.

“Armin,” Levi said, his voice quiet but firm, “you are not pathetic for crying.” The boy slumped against the wall. Levi could tell he didn`t believe him.

He opened his rucksack, extracting the tissue packet once again, lobbing the entire thing onto the boy`s lap, startling enough to prompt him to look up at him, eyes shining starkly against the white of his wrappings.

“Can I tell you a secret?” he asked Armin. The boy nodded, extracting a tissue from the packet and lowering the wrappings covering his nose. Levi waited for him to finish blowing his nose before continuing.

“Can you guess how old I am?” he asked, trying to keep his tone light and conversational and praying to whatever the Force was that this would work.

Armin peered at him, his eyes squinting in the low light. “Um…. Twenty?” he said, his voice careful. Levi gave a dry smile.

“Close. Twenty-six.” He glanced over at Armin, who quickly averted his gaze.

“Um… that`s really young,” he said.

Levi scoffed. “Really, kid? You don`t have to be polite.” He wanted to wince at his tone, but the boy seemed unconcerned by Levi`s rough tone. He closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the wall.

“So, Armin, so you think I cry?”

The boy sighed. “No,” he said wearily, as if expecting a lecture.

“Well, I cry all the time.” He opened an eye to look down at Armin, who was looking very unimpressed.

“You don`t believe me,” he said.

“No!”

“Why not?” he pressed, curious.

“Strong people don`t cry,” he said, matter of factly. He opened his mouth to elaborate, hesitant. “Strong people… they…” He bit his lip, struggling to find the words he needed. “They… they make sure they don`t give themselves reasons to cry. They succeed in protecting what`s important to them.”

Levi was silent for a moment. “No one is strong by that assessment,” he said.

“Jedi don`t cry,” Armin argued. Levi scoffed again. “I wouldn`t hold the Jedi accountable to their feelings,” he said, trying not to let bitterness taint his voice.

The boy took in a shuddering breath, tearing a tissue apart with his fingers. Levi was relieved to see it was an unused one.

The boy looked back at his new guardian. “I won`t cry again,” he said, his voice steady. He looked back at the tissue shreds in his lap. “I won`t be a burden,” he whispered.

With that, the subject moved away from Armin, and Levi found himself telling his life story to this kid he had just met. It seemed to help take the boy`s mind off his nightmares, and it wasn`t long before Levi felt Armin`s head gently lolling onto his shoulder, leaving Levi to the company of the soft rumble of the engines as the ship cruised through hyperspace.

 

* * *

 

As much as Levi disliked the Jedi in general, he wasn`t a fool. The Jedi would make or break this war, and he leaned more towards the opinion that they would make a significant difference. It didn`t mean he had to like it. As Captain of a small scouting regiment in the Republic, he was expected to work closely with the Jedi that were assigned to his division. By virtue of being Jedi, they automatically were granted top rank, a policy which Levi silently thought was bullshit.

He did not voice his complaints, however, despite the fact that this now meant that he had to report directly to the Jedi. Thankfully, the scouting regiment was small. With the limited amount of Jedi support they had, they were spread thin among the divisions of the Republic, and so they had only been assigned one Jedi. A master, or so he was told, now to be referred to as general. Or, whatever he liked, the messenger had informed him.

Levi hadn`t bothered hoping that his new general would be clueless about his past with the Jedi, but when the man walked through the door he wanted to vomit.

“You have got to be joking,” Levi said as the new general for his division entered the room.

Erwin smiled amiably. “It`s good to see you too, Levi.”

Jedi Master Erwin Smith had barely aged in the years since they had last met, the new rank being the only significant difference. He was dressed in simple robes of brown, a stark contrast to the smart red uniform Levi sported.

“I didn`t realize the Council would let people with the rank of Master run off to play at war.”

“Technically, they didn`t allow any of us join the war.”

“You know you`ll never go back after this? Jedi principles don`t exist on the battle field, you`ll be tried.”

“I`m aware,” Erwin replied smoothly, unfazed. Levi scoffed, but didn`t respond.

A moment passed. “I was told we were to discuss strategy, so let`s get to it,” Levi said, moving towards the drinks cabinet, selecting an unopened bottle of brandy. He held it out towards Erwin. “You still drink this shit?” he asked, giving the bottle a small shake for emphasis. The Jedi nodded. “Please,” he said, sitting down on one of the armchairs next to a coffee table which served as an informal meeting spot.

The Captain placed a single tumbler onto a coaster, along with the bottle, setting both in front Erwin. The glass had three chunks of ice, the condensation already clinging to the edge of the glass. “Don`t get that shit on the table,” Levi ordered.

Erwin nodded at the single glass. “You`re not having one?”

“I don`t drink anymore,” Levi replied, sounding bored as he opened a drawer at his desk, searching for a holorecord.

Erwin chuckled at that. Levi extracted the file he was searching for, and sat in the armchair opposite the Jedi Master. “What was that for?” he asked, not really caring about the answer.

“How is that desert boy? Adam?”

“Armin,” Levi automatically corrected, not missing Erwin`s point. He pressed a button on the holorecord, and a projection of a map of the galaxy sprung into view between them. “He`s fine,” he said, not really wanting to discuss it. Truth be told, he didn`t want to show just how grateful he was that Erwin had just dumped the kid onto him. Without Armin, he was fairly certain he`d be dead in a ditch on some backwater by now.

Infuriatingly, Erwin seemed to know his sentiments, and Levi could just feel the smugness oozing off of him. “You`re full of shit,” he told the man, then promptly pointed at a spot on the map, eager to change the subject.

“This,” he said, “is Cathar.” He tapped the planet and it expanded, taking up most of the space between them. A smaller sphere circled the planet.

“Cathar,” he continued, “is a planet on the Outer Rim. It`s boring in every way possible. It`s not a major trade route and has no minerals. It`s also the homeworld of the Cathar race, and it has gone silent.”

Erwin frowned, listening.

“The Cathar are known to be warriors. Really aggressive. Unlikable, really,” Levi added. “They`re not heavily involved in offworld politics, so it wasn`t unusual when transmissions from the planet ceased. It`s happened before, but…”

“It`s too much of a coincidence,” Erwin muttered.

“They haven`t responded to any attempts at communication, and the top brass believes this may be the back door to gaining the Jedi support,” Levi said, bluntly.

“I`ll need to consider this,” Erwin finally gave. He took a sip of his brandy, then stood, zooming out the image so the galaxy map was fully visible.

He followed a line of planets that fell along the Outer Rim, his eyebrows furrowed. Levi could almost hear his thoughts. The Force swirled around the Jedi, and it gave him a headache.

“You`re loud,” he said, after a moment. Erwin looked up at him, concentration broken but a look of sympathy on his face. “Still sensitive?” he asked. Levi was certain he wasn`t trying to tease, but the comment riled him nonetheless.

“Don`t give me that. I`m just saying you should keep it in check,” he clarified.

He sat back into his chair, folding his arms and crossing his legs. “You`re not going to be around Jedi anymore,” he reminded the blonde man opposite him. He gestured towards the map. “Until the Council pulls their heads out of their asses. You have to remember what you are to the soldiers, because it certainly isn`t normal.”

Erwin didn`t reply, instead taking another sip of his drink. “So, Erwin, you know the situation. What do you suggest be the Scouting Regiment of the Republic`s course of action?”

“I think,” the Jedi said slowly, his eyes following the tiny planet as it rotated around its sun, “that we pay Cathar a visit.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really hope all these planet names and bizarre locations aren`t confusing everyone.  
> So, this is pretty much Levi`s intro chapter, I hope I`ve written him ok :/  
> Kudos and comments breathe life into fics like this.  
> Thank you so much for all your kind words! I apologise for how short this chapter is.  
> As you can tell, I really need a beta reader, so contact me if you`d like to take up the role! I don`t bite :P  
> And now to work on Heroes, which I haven`t touched for nearly two months :/


	8. Chapter 8

Armin wasn`t in denial that he had been dealt a heavy hand in life, nor was he proud of a lot of the things he had done. He did, however, believe he had always done the best he could, and dealt with the blows as they came. The outcomes were not always as they could have been, but he had adjusted. He had always prided himself on being fair and keeping an even head when things did not go as expected.

As he grew older, he began to realize where his line was. Slavery was a no. Serving other people`s egos was a no. Anything involving the Mandalorians was a no. The task assigned to his Jedi companions was leaping far and away over his line. Military command or not, he was not going to allow a Mandalorian onto his ship.

“He`s a war criminal!” he hotly informed his Jedi companions. “He told us he participated in genocide! He owned slaves! Who knows what else he`s done, that he`s not telling us?”

“Too much, I`ll wager,” Eren said grumpily, clearly not happy with the situation either. He, however, didn`t question the orders he was given, something that went against everything his personality had thus far suggested. It gave Armin pause.

“What aren`t you telling me?” he asked.  

“Jedi business.” It was Mikasa who spoke. “Are you going to take us to Cathar, or do we need to find another pilot?”

He didn`t really know why he was making such a fuss. He`d transport the Mandalorian to the Republic. They`d arrest him. He`d be further evidence against the Mandalorians. Case closed. Justice served. The thought put a sour taste in his mouth, and he couldn`t explain why. It frustrated him.It was times like these where he had learnt through unhappy experience to hold his tongue and wait it out.

“I`ll take you,” his eyes turned to the Mandalorian, who was watching this exchange with an expression that was thoroughly amused, which pissed him off even more.

“What a relief,” the man drawled, clearly bored.

“You,” Armin said, pointing, “you are not to leave the crew quarters. Ever. You are not allowed into the cockpit. You are not to wander. You are a prisoner, not a guest. Understood?”

The man looked down at him, directly into his eyes. He nodded slowly.

So when Armin found himself talking to Levi hours later, he was more than a little irritated. “Why the hell did you order me to drag a Mandalorian halfway across the galaxy?” he demanded as soon as his mentor flickered in front of him.

Levi looked bored, dark rings under his eyes showing stress.

“Look, kid, I can`t worried about your delicate condition when we need to get shit done. You asked to sign on to this, you have to deal with it. Unless you don`t think two Jedi and yourself can handle an unarmed Mandalorian? Because that`s bullshit.”

Armin shifted in his seat. “We can hand him over when we get there?”

“Yes, Armin,” Levi said, sounding impatient. “Where is he now?”

“Everyone`s in the crew`s quarters,” he said.

“Keep an eye on him,” Levi ordered, then cut the call.

“Sure,” Armin muttered, slumping in his chair, face illuminated by the blue glow of hyperspace. He wanted to hit himself for behaving so stupidly. He was better than this.

“Shit,” he muttered, wiping the tears that were threatening to run down his cheeks. It had taken years for the nightmares to leave, and now he had to bring one into his personal space. He took a breath to calm himself down. The galaxy map behind him said they`d arrive in twelve hours. He could do this.

 

* * *

 

 

Mikasa was ever grateful for the presence of the Force. It was alive, and gently coaxed her out of episodes whenever she could feel herself slipping. It flowed like a river through the galaxy, its currents weaving, fast and dangerous in some places, calm and gentle in others. It left its mark on people, some with lives that were entirely influenced by the Force, others it barely left a whisper, only to be heard when one listened carefully, but it would always be there to be found.

It was there both times when she had visited the desert planet of Tatooine. A boy, her age, covered head to toe in robes and wrappings. The Force swirled around him like wildfire, and she found herself inexplicably drawn towards him. He could have left with them, but Erwin had said no. Mikasa had understood when the boy`s mother approached. Sometimes the path of a Jedi wasn`t the only option for those the Force favoured.

She recognized him immediately when they had met some years later. They had both grown, but she could feel his presence, even stronger than Eren`s. His family was gone now, nothing stood in the way of him becoming a Jedi, but for his age. He was too old to learn the subtleties of the Force. She hadn`t been worried when Erwin had left him in the care of Levi. Levi was rude and harsh, but he cared more than he let on. The Force also swirled around Levi. But, Levi had rejected it. Mikasa couldn`t understand that. Since the farm boy on Tatooine, she hadn`t met anyone who the Force touched like that.

Mikasa didn`t know Levi well, only through the stories Erwin had sometimes told her. They shared a clan name, but the similarities ended there, most notably that they were different races altogether. It wasn`t unusual. Clans endured for millennia, it was rare to find clans that contained one race and one race only. They were bound by an ideal, a way of life, rather than family connections. But that ceased to matter when she joined the Jedi. Joining the Jedi entailed cutting family ties. The Jedi were the family she had left, yet she had abandoned them to chase after a cause.  

She joined at a young age, as was often tradition for the eldest children of the Ackerman clans. What had been different was the circumstances behind her joining: members of the branch family didn`t receive the honour of joining the Jedi ranks. Yet the Force had pushed her into the arms of the Order, and she embraced it as if it were life itself. It was her crutch, her way of surviving. She had learnt many harsh lessons with the Jedi, but it was worth it. It had to be.

She`d been fine until Taris had unearthed memories she had thought were long forgotten. The hurt had lingered, festering in her mind and aura, only enhanced by the confusion and desperation of Nar Shadda. She had to let go.　She took a deep breath, holding on to the hurt that yet lingered within her, then releasing it, allowing the Force to carry it away.

“You okay?” Eren asked her.

“Yes,” she answered, not opening her eyes. He was trying to find a distraction “Concentrate on your meditation, Eren.”

He grumbled, fidgeting.

“You`re the noisiest Jedi I`ve ever met,” Jean declared from his bunk, his voice muffled. Mikasa suppressed a groan. The two of them had been getting on each other’s` nerves since they had met, and Mikasa was certain they were now doing it on purpose.

“You know, Jean,” Eren said, his voice oddly calm, though he spoke through gritted teeth, “you`re the whiniest Mandalorian I`ve ever met.”

“Pleeeease shut up,” Connie groaned.

Silence fell in the small crew quarters. There were two sets of bunks, which meant two people had to go without beds since the trio had joined them. Azalas had given up his bunk, saying he had to pilot the ship anyway. Mikasa had given up hers, needing only meditation for rest. Eren had joined her.　She was beginning to regret the decision. Eren and Jean wouldn`t stop talking, the Mandalorian being an easy distraction from meditation. She was used to Eren`s fidgeting and shuffling and could block it out easily, but the constant arguments were another matter entirely.

Five of them were in the crew`s quarters, Azalas was piloting the ship to the best of her knowledge. She frowned, concentrating, trying to find his presence.　She found nothing.

Eren had been right. She thought it might have been the fluctuations of Nar Shaddaa, but the racer had no Force presence at all.　As if he didn`t exist.　The Force swirled around Eren, wild, fierce and unpredictable. It caressed Sasha and Connie, gentle, yet firm. It was a whisper within Jean, barely there, but loud enough to make its presence known. Her attempts to connect to the pilot of the ship were met with silence, and that silence was deafening.

She opened her eyes, standing up. “I`m going for a walk,” she informed everyone.

“Don`t let me stop you,” Jean muttered, face buried in his pillow.

 

She found him in the pilot`s chair, one leg tucked under the other, scrolling through a holorecord. He glanced up at her as she entered, his lips curling into a small smile.

“Can`t sleep?” he asked.

“No,” she said, falling into the seat next to him, “they won`t shut up.”

“Ah,” the racer said, nodding in understanding. He returned to his holorecord, unpausing it. A race track was projected in front of him, images of drivers with their names and bike details were shown over the track.　She looked at him curiously while his attention was on the projection. Even at this proximity there was no Force presence. It made her uncomfortable, and she suddenly realised how much she relied on the Force to gauge people`s intentions. She didn`t like it.

He glanced over to her, noticing her stare. “Am I under suspicion for something?” he asked, his voice playful but careful.

She shook her head. “Do you know what the Force is?” she asked. A stupid question, but she didn`t know the education level of a gang member and bounty hunter.

He turned back to his projection.

“I know a little,” he replied. “The Jedi rely on it.”

How to approach this?

“It`s absent on one area of the ship,” she told him. Much to her surprise, he laughed.

“You know, I met a Jedi before,” he told her, pausing the holorecord once more and turning his body towards her, back against the wall behind him, legs crossed. He tilted his head. “They told me that my existence was a great, gaping hole. But, I`m here,” he shrugged. “I have no idea what the Force actually is. Luck, skill,” he ticked options off on his delicate, pale fingers, “meditation pushed to the extreme. According to Jedi doctrine, life can`t exist without the Force. Yet, here I am. Both those things can`t be true.”

She thought about that. He looked up at Mikasa. “Do I make you uncomfortable?” he asked, blunt. She shifted, her eyes darting away from his stare. “A little,” she admitted.

He smiled. “You`ll get used to it. I`m sure I`m not the only one who`s absent from the Force, consider it training.”

She thought about it. His nonchalance somehow comforted her, but she still didn`t like how his existence challenged everything she believed and had been taught.

“So,” Azalas said, breaking the silence, “what prompted you to join the war?”

“Eren,” she said simply, hesitation absent. He raised an eyebrow.  

“So… then, why did Eren want to join the war?”

She sighed, not answering immediately. “Eren… he does a bad job at hiding how he feels, as I`m sure you`ve noticed. He has a small set of beliefs, but he sticks to them. He feels the Mandalorian invasion is wrong, and if what Jean says what happened at Cathar is true, then Eren`s probably right.

“He used to stick to the rules more when we were younger. He obeyed our Master without question, even when he disagreed. I remember a Mandalorian raid years ago, on Tattoine, we left a boy our age behind. Eren disagreed, but he didn`t say anything. He hated that, being so helpless, watching people die and doing nothing for the sake of his own life.　He was right. A Jedi`s life is sacrifice. He believes this is the way to go, so off we go,” she gestured in front of her towards the dark of space, tinted blue with the speed of hyperspace.

“Fair enough,” he replied.  

“What about you?” she asked. She had talked a lot, and felt as if she had to reciprocate his curiosity, even if she didn`t really feel it. She was just trying to figure him out.

“I told you when I joined you guys,” he said.

“Yeah, but you weren`t too happy when Erwin ordered us to take Jean,” she said, remembering how the blonde`s eyes had narrowed, how he informed everyone that Jean would only be allowed in the crew quarters of his ship.

“I don`t want to discuss it, all right?” he said, his voice even but his tone indicating the topic was off limits. She fell silent, the atmosphere in the cockpit suddenly tense.

Should she apologise? She didn`t know. Surely he wouldn`t sulk over something so stupid. It may have been a sensitive topic, but she couldn`t have known that, and he had asked her about things that she would have preferred to stay private.

“Ah, sorry,” he said, breaking the silence. She looked over at him. How did he…? She wondered.

“You couldn`t possibly understand the situation unless I had told you. I`m sorry for overreacting like that,” he said, pushing his hair out of his face. “You have things you`d rather not talk about, right?” he asked. She nodded.

“Jean and I will get along fine if he respects my rules,” he added. She gave a small smile. “I don`t really care about how you get along with Jean,” she said. “If Eren has any say in it, he`ll leave when we get to Cathar.” 

The blonde shifted in his seat, facing the controls. “Hey, Mikasa,” he said, looking over at her with a smile, “know how to fly a ship?”

She looked up at him, curious about the sudden change in topic. “I can pilot a fighter,” she said. He snorted.

“Those fragile things Jedi sometimes use? They`re clunky and slow. Fragile, too. A ship like this will treat you well if you know how to fly her.” His voice was proud.

She laughed. “No offense, Mr Stranger, but isn`t this just an old smuggling vessel? It looks older than I am,” she joked.

“How old are you, then?” he asked, amusement twinkling in his eyes.

“Twenty-four standard,” she said.

“Oh, then _The Ebon Hawke_ is much older than the both of us,” he said, giving the control panel in front of him an affectionate pat.

“How did you… uh... acquire it?” she asked.

He rolled his eyes. “I didn`t steal it, if that`s what you`re implying. I won it at my first race on the professional circuit. Belonged to a crime lord. He bet his best ship to prove a human didn`t have the reflexes to swoop race, and I won it right from under his nose. He was stupid. You shouldn`t bet what you aren`t willing to lose.”

She smiled. “To be fair, humans usually don`t have the reflexes for swoop racing.”

He laughed. “Well, with that attitude I`m bound to scoop more betted goods once this is over.” 

He looked over at her, his eyes dancing. “Want to learn how to fly this ship?” he offered.

“Right now?” she asked, startled.

He nodded. “You are in the co-pilot`s seat, after all,” he reasoned, pressing a button on the control panel. Her seat moved forward, closer to the windscreen and the control panel. The blast shield arced upwards, forming a part of the roof. When she looked up, peeking past her lifted hood, she could see the cold blue of hyperspace.

“So,” the blonde began, “your smuggler vessel is generally hooked up differently to your standard Republic vessel. Outer Rim tech mixed with necessity, added to the fact that this vessel is ancient as far as ships go,” he said. He was a good teacher, she found, explaining things plainly with enough information so that she didn`t become confused. An hour later, she had a working idea of how to pilot the ship.

“See?” he said as she pointed to the controls they were reviewing, “It`s more intuitive than your standard vessel. Built for the everyday man,” he said, as if it were a bragging point.

“It is a wonder,” she said, half serious.

“It`s better than those Republic ships,” he told her. “My father pilots one. No craftsmanship whatsoever. The Republic is going to have to rethink their ship design if they`re going to have a chance against the Mandalorians.”

“Your father is in the Republic?” she asked, surprised.  

“He took me in. He joined the Republic a few years ago, spends most of his time on duty,” he told her, affection in his voice.

“The point is,” he continued, “the Republic is going to have to adapt if they want to win. Old designs aren`t going to beat the Mandalorians. War is in their blood, if Jean`s testimony is anything to go by,” the tone in his voice suggesting he didn`t believe a word Jean said.

“So, how do you suggest they change?” she asked.

An hour later she had learned all she ever wanted to know about fighting ship design.

“Of course, this is all theoretical, and can`t be applied to a ship as big as this. The Ebon Hawke is great for evasion, but I`ve never tested her in actual combat,” he said. He looked over at her. “Am I boring you?” he asked.

She shook her head. “No. But I think I should be getting back to meditation,” she pressed a button on the control panel, her chair moving back.

“Thank you for teaching me,” she said.

“Thanks for listening,” he replied. He gestured to a panel on the wall behind her. “According to the galaxy map, we should be there in around ten hours.”

“Thanks,” she said. She stood at the doorway awkwardly.

“Aren`t you going to sleep?” she asked. He turned to look at her. “I`ll sleep here,” he said, where she expected to feel the smallest whisper of the Force echoing as if reaching through the distance of space and time, there was nothing, and though they were a metre apart, Mikasa felt as if she were alone in the room. She tried not to feel unnerved.   

“Ok,” she said, feeling as though she was leaving the room empty as she left.  

 

Instead of returning to the crew quarters, she went to the medical bay, knelt down and closed her eyes.

What she found surprised her. Instead of the pain created by the desperate energies of Taris and Nar Shaddaa, there was peace. Her eyes snapped open.

 _Just what is he?_ She wondered.

 

The Ebon Hawke soared through the yawning chasm of space alone, its cockpit silent and empty, their destination a planet whose screams echoed quietly in the dark.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An update one month later, my apologies, work got really hectic and I had a massive amount of writer`s block for this chapter. Updates will become regular once again!  
> Please don`t hesitate to leave comments, I welcome all kinds of comments and discussion. Kudos if you like, comment if you like or hate it, all are appreciated, so do the thing.  
> Once again, thanks for reading!


	9. Chapter 9

Screams. Pleading, desperate eyes that quickly turn to hatred, accusing. They multiply into a sea, an ocean of people who can be heard no more but continue to whisper and crawl inside Jean`s head, staying away when he was around others, scared of their voices, but coming out and licking the insides of his head with hot, poisonous words that worm their way into his brain and make him want to scream and tear them out, only his body is paralysed until his brain decides it`s had enough and forces him awake.

It was worse with people in the room with him, others weren`t supposed to know.

The Jedi don`t sleep, they just sit on the floor, their eyes closed and off their minds wander to wherever they go to rest. The Mandalorians had stories of Jedi invading the minds of others. If it was true, he had no doubt that Mikasa at least had probed his mind, which would explain why she had trusted him so readily. He doubted she gave her trust freely.

However, on that first night, it was Eren`s eyes that met his when he awoke from his nightmare, covered in sweat and eyes streaming from his face, gasping for breath as though trying to clear the poison from his lungs.

“You`re ok, Jean,” the Jedi said leaning over Jean, a cool palm placed over his forehead and a reassuring hand placed gently but firmly on his shoulder. Despite himself, Jean felt reassured, and he felt his breathing slowly return to normal. He listened, not hearing the other occupants of the room stirring. Eren released his grip, returning to his spot on the floor without asking any questions, for which Jean was grateful.  

He waited a few minutes, listening to the slow, steady hum of the engines, but too scared to fall asleep. He turned over, barely making out Eren`s still figure in the darkness.

“Don`t tell anyone,” he said quietly, knowing Eren was still awake. The silhouette shifted.

Jean put an arm over his eyes. This had to stop. He had been trained to have perfect control over his body and mind, but he had no control of himself once sleep took over. Now he was begging a Jedi to preserve hide his shame. How pitiful. Scared of sleep, relying on the Jedi, in the hands of a petty criminal. _No,_ Jean thought irritably, “ _swoop racer”._ As if it mattered. Honour or no, criminal or no, the man was allied with the Jedi, and thus had control over him, a fact which made Jean`s blood boil. Luckily, he hadn`t had to deal with the man much, as he had viewed him with just as much distaste as Jean had him.

 _Azalas_. Jean wanted to laugh. Clearly a false name, which meant he was hiding something. He considered pondering the matter, but decided he didn`t care enough to do so.

 _Though, the name had sounded familiar._ He felt his eyes dropping closed, and the thought vanished as he let sleep take him.  

 

* * *

 

 

Sasha`s favourite food growing up was a stew her mother made. Deep in her memory, she could recall her mother telling her that it had been passed down for many generations. The stew was an entire day`s affair to make, but Sasha found that was the best kind of food.

With her father, she would set out to the woods that surrounded her home in the cover of darkness, bow and arrows at hand, all fletched herself. They would track, often for hours until an animal showed itself, creatures whose names she could no longer recall. She would take pride in mercy, a clean kill, hard and swift, just as her father had taught her. A single arrow, and the animal would fall.

They would carry the animal back, the air warming as the sun emerged. Soon, the sun would feel as if it were scorching, but Sasha enjoyed the heat on her arms, sunning her unmarked face as she gutted and skinned her prey.

The stew would take all day to cook, and then they would sit down to eat and the stew would taste like… like…

She could describe it, but she knew she would be lying. She wanted to kick herself for forgetting such details. Her mom had had a fondness for that herb, the one she had no name for. She had hated it, and would eat around it. Her mother would scold her, and she would stick her tongue out in response.

She had been beaten for that very herb that she longed to taste again, an attempt to remember her mother and happier days whilst on a moon that had been trying to eat her alive. That herb that she had so hated had freed them.

The Mandalorians had come in waves that blackened the sky, casting a shadow on her unmarked face, the coolness, which once brought relief, would now forever bring a sense of dread as it forced her to remember that day.

The forest burned, and in the chaos she lost her way. Things looked different while they were on fire. She got lost, and stumbled out at the wrong end of the forest.

Of course, they had taken her. She had been informed of her race`s reputation in the galaxy, she was told that she was bloodthirsty and prone to violence, and thus had to fight to further the Mandalorian cause, of which she was now a part of. _Call it what it is,_ Sasha had thought irritably, _slave._

She had left the planet for the first time in her life, but she couldn`t cry. She couldn`t, because she was with so many others who were in the same situation as her, all her age, most of them unmarked.

She had met Connie, and they had been sent to fight the enemies of Mandalore.

They didn`t do it. They knew enough to stay alive.

She thought she didn`t have room in her for hatred, but she hated those Mandalorians that had taken her from her family and her life. Most of all, she hated that memories of the Mandalorians were sharper than that of the stew her mother used to make, that she could not remember its name, nor that of the animals she hunted with her father.

And now there was a Mandalorian crying in his sleep, wracked with guilt over what could have been.

There was a Jedi who was awake, who spoke words of comfort despite the mutual dislike between the two.

They were declared enemies, inherently against the other, and yet this bizarre scene was playing below her as she was a silent observer, her attention focused on those that were unaware of her eavesdropping. She could see in the dark clearly, far better than a human, and could see the frown on Eren`s face as he resumed his attempted meditation

She heard Jean`s request for  Eren's silence, wondering when exactly it was that someone had willingly given up power because of guilt and self-hatred, and when she had unknowingly made friends with this person that represented everything that was wrong in the galaxy out of pity.   

She could see the galaxy tipping at the edge of a precipice, an all too familiar dance, and she could hardly dare to breathe. It was as if she was seeing the scene of her home burning all over again, and she was still lost and afraid, powerless in the realization that the galaxy would soon be set alight in a conflict that was a millennia in the making.

 _Don`t make a sound, Sasha_ , her father had told her.

Place the arrow. Hold.

Draw. Aim.

Fire.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a bit of an interim chapter that`s really short, but I don`t feel like it`ll fit in with the next chapter. Anyway, for better or worse, here it is.


	10. Chapter 10

The end of their journey to Cathar had come, and Armin centered them close to the planet, just out of reach of the planet`s gravity.

“We`re going to rendezvous with a small Republic force here,” Eren said, indicating to a point on a map of the planet of Cathar. The map was a dimensional projection in between them, moving slowly as a representation of the planet`s movements.

“Why there?” Jean asked, a small frown on his long face. He pointed at another point, closer to the Northern Pole of the planet. “Capital city is here. The massacre,” he said, moving his finger further south, towards a shoreline, “was here.”

“The higher ups don`t believe the entire planet was killed,” Armin speculated, interjecting for the first time since the meeting began. He turned to Mikasa and Eren. “Right?” he asked, looking for clarification.

“We don`t know,” Mikasa said, her tone unreadable.

“Well, they were!” Jean said, sounding annoyed.

“The Cathar have always been secretive and they`ve gone silent before, we`ve not going to hinge this operation based on the word of a lone Mandalorian,” Eren told him.

To Armin`s surprise, Jean backed down.

“Okay,” Eren continued, “We will be meeting on the planet. According to records, Cathar is a forest world with big trees and massive insects.” He paused. “Aside from Jean, has anyone ever been?”

“I have,” Armin replied. They looked at him expectantly. “It was a while ago. It was hot, the Cathar people are very private and live in massive trees, not unlike the Wookiees.” He looked up at Jean, meeting the Mandalorian`s eyes for the first time. “It`s why they attacked, right? Their military was one of the strongest in the Outer Rim?”

He noticed how Jean hesitated before answering. “That`s right.”

“They can`t all be gone,” Eren said. He looked up at Jean, Sasha and Connie, who looked worried. “It`s an entire planet. They can`t have killed them all without anyone noticing.”

Armin noted how Sasha bit her lip, holding words back.

For one, he didn`t doubt Jean. He may have been a bastard, but Armin very much believed in the brutality of the Mandalorians. Warrior race or not, the Mandalorians had no concept of mercy, and if their actions drove one of their own into the arms of the Jedi…

He glanced over at Eren and Mikasa, who were discussing details of the rendezvous. They claimed the Jedi would have felt a disturbance in the Force if an entire race had been massacred, but Armin had his doubts. It wouldn`t be the first time Jedi had been wrong about the Force.

He blinked as he realised Eren was addressing him.

“Yes, sorry?” he said, looking up.

“Do you think you`ll be able to take us in silently?”

Armin frowned. “You think there might still be Mandalorians on planet?”

“There could be anyone,”

“Do you think so, Eren?” Armin asked him again, holding his gaze.

“No.”

“Okay,” Armin said, considering this. “I can take us in without being noticed,” he confirmed. 

 

He found a clearing a few kilometers from the meeting point, a small patch of land not covered by trees. Armin tried to ignore the fact that it looked very much like a blast crater, and didn`t mention this to anyone.

Cathar was as mercilessly hot and humid as he remembered it, and Armin found himself sweating through his clothes within minutes, finding himself longing for the garb of his childhood back on Tatooine, which had been designed to protect the wearer from the worst of the heat. _At least Tatooine had been a dry heat_ , he thought, casting his mind back to his childhood. He hadn`t been back in years.

   
Massive trees reached towards the blistering sky, their trunks almost comically thick; their branches, small.

“This place is as shitty as last time,” Jean spluttered, waving away a small swarm of tiny insects.

“What do Cathar look like, anyway?” Sasha asked, appearing unaffected by the heat. Armin remembered she was, too, from a very hot planet. When Jean didn`t answer the question, he spoke.  
“They`re very catlike. Slitted eyes, the men sometimes have manes.” He carefully moved a branch out of the way before stepping over a tree root that lay in his path. “They`re tall and strong. Strong sense of culture and pride.”

He glanced over at Eren, whom led the group. “How far till the rendezvous point?” he asked, frustrated that he was beginning to lag behind. He needed to work on his strength.

 “About ten minutes,” Eren replied, Mikasa trudging next to him. Armin felt as if he were the only one struggling with the weather, the insects, heat and humidity. _Get a grip,_ he told himself, determined to forge onwards, focusing on his goal, trying to control his breathing, which was coming out in short, loud pants.

 “You doing okay?” he heard someone ask. He looked up to see Jean had fallen back and was now walking slightly ahead of him. 

“I`m fine,” he said sharply, not interested in conversation. He tried to pick up his pace, not wanting to be left alone with Jean.

“So, I was thinking last night,” Jean began, “that the name Azalas sounded really familiar. But, I couldn`t place where I had heard it before.”

Armin didn`t like where this was going. “And?” he asked, staring resolutely at Sasha and Connie`s retreating backs. Annoyingly, Jean was keeping at Armin`s pace with ease.

“You say you were a bounty hunter? Did you use your given name or your birth name when you started out?”

“Why do you care?” Armin huffed, trying to redirect the attention off him. He looked ahead at Sasha and Connie, who were in the midst of their own conversation and didn`t seem to be paying attention to the pair behind them.

 “Just as a matter of interest,” Jean said breezily. “You know, there was this one bounty hunter that gave Mandalorian scouts some trouble a few years back.”

“Just the one?” Armin asked dully. Jean gave a short laugh before continuing.

“He was a waif, around your height, I think. No one knew what he looked like, save for his eyes, which were a bright, blue colour.” He turned his head and looked Armin straight in the eyes. “Yes. Kind of like yours,” he commented. “He was the type to use his size as an advantage. Brutal fellow. Made us seem like innocent angels. Slaughtered through all his contracts. He even killed a Jedi…”

“What`s your point, Jean?” Armin interrupted him, desperately trying to keep the panic from his voice, achieving a deadpan tone but knowing his panic was evident in his eyes. How did he know all this?

“Wow, it really is you,” Jean said, a smug smile on his face. “Armin Arlert, Tatooine. Specialises in isolation, interrogation and weaponry,” he recited from memory. “Tell me, did you really kill a Jedi? I`m curious, do your friends know? Is that why you won`t tell them your real name?”

 Armin decided he`d had enough. He took put his blaster, his finger light on the trigger. “Forward,” he ordered. “Do not forget that you are a prisoner, and I will not hesitate to shoot you.”

 It was a bluff, a stupid bluff that and he didn`t quite know why he was acting so rashly. Of course Jean would see through it. He rolled his eyes. “Calm down, I won`t tell anyone. We`ve all done shit we aren`t proud of.” He quickened his pace, moving ahead to Connie and Sasha, leaving a very surprised Armin on his own to his own panicked thoughts. He holstered his blaster and quickened his pace, walking a few paces behind the three in front of him, wondering if he had somehow misjudged Jean.

 

 

* * *

 

 

If anything, Jean thought this entire “investigation” was a waste of time. He knew it and the Jedi companions knew it. He suspected Armin knew, and Sasha and Connie certainly had no doubts. Yet here they were, on this boiling, desolate planet, with nothing left but the forest, the animals and a whole lot of empty cities. If they looked up, they could see small villages in the treetops, built into the trees themselves, connected by walkways weaving through the branches like an intricate spider`s web. Each village en route was checked, only to be discovered that they had been long abandoned.

 And now they were meeting underneath yet another ghost of a village, talking tactics that would only further confirm what they knew, instead of anything that would be useful.

It was a small contingent of troops who were more scouts than soldiers, led by Captain Levi of the Republic and General Erwin Smith of the Jedi, who also happened to be Eren and Mikasa`s former master. Levi was a short, scowly man who seemed to be annoyed that he had been called to the planet. Jean wondered if he also thought this meeting was a waste of time.

Erwin was tall, blonde and had an imposing aura that Jean was sure would impress even the most hardened Mandalorian military leaders. They had begun this war to battle Jedi like Erwin. He wondered if it had been a fool`s errand. The Jedi Master seemed incredibly concerned with what they had found thus far.

 Armin seemed to be acquainted with the Republic captain. Jean assumed that it was how Armin got mixed up in all of this. He couldn`t figure out the kid.

 “Republic movement towards the capital is slow,” Erwin said, pointing at a map that showed various troop movements. “There is no sign of the Cathar or the Mandalorian army. If they were here, they left long ago.”

Levi spoke next.  

“Mandalorians were making plans to move towards the Republic. They haven`t struck anything, so we suspect they are planning something big. We`re reinforcing key worlds along the Mid Rim here, here and here,” he said, pointing at a few worlds on the borders of Republic space.  

 Erwin looked up at Jean. “Do you know any of their future plans?”

Jean scoffed. “Only a little. I was low on the chain of command. I know they wanted to provoke a war with the Republic and the Jedi, but no more than that. They promised us glory and honour in battle.”

Levi folded his arms, looking irritated. “Troop of fucking animals.” He looked over at Erwin. “What happened here is unacceptable. We can`t let it happen again. We need to find any survivors and secure the Republic. The Senate will not let this go unchallenged.”

“There could be refugees on Nar Shaddaa and Taris that could tell us what happened,” Armin said.

Erwin considered this. “No, the Republic forces on Serroco have requested a larger contingent of Jedi. Eren and Mikasa will go there.” The pair nodded in understanding.

Erwin paused for a moment. “The Mandalorian will join them.”

“What?” Jean spluttered. “I`m not joining the Republic,” he protested.

“No, but you are in the custody of the Jedi, and you would do more good on the front lines. This is not a front line. Serroco, however, will be. You can make yourself useful and assist with the defenses.”  

He turned to his former apprentices. “Do you accept this?”

“Yes,” both answered at once without hesitation. Jean felt a flash of irritation. All he needed now was their lap dog to join them.

As if on cue, Armin asked if he could accompany them. “Request granted,” Levi replied.

“Actually, Levi,” Erwin said, looking at Armin with a curious expression, “I would like you to accompany them to command the Republic forces there.”

A pause. “Yes, General,” Levi said, sounding less than happy with the decision, but not fighting it.

Great.

 

* * *

 

 

“Serroco is not too far from here,” Armin said once they returned to the ship. Levi had stalked to the Captain`s quarters, which would serve as his room en route. He seemed to be familiar with the layout of the ship, which confirmed Jean`s suspicions that he had met Armin before.

“A few hours, most. Perfect deployment, really,” Armin continued.  

“Whatever,” said Jean, his mood foul.

“Oh, lighten up, Jean,” Connie said, slumped on his bunk, amusing himself with a rock that he had picked up from the planet, throwing it into the air and catching it. Armin watched the progress of the rock, his big eyes following the movement. Eren and Mikasa sat on the end of Connie`s bunk, looking worried.

 “Easy for you to say, you had a choice in the matter,” Jean grumbled. Both Sasha and Connie had requested to join them, for reasons Jean didn`t want to think about. Revenge, a sense of justice, it didn`t matter. They were going to get themselves killed, and so was he. He hoped very much that his former brethren weren`t setting their sights on Serroco just yet.

They settled into an uncomfortable silence, disturbed by what they had found on Cathar.  
Armin seemed to read their minds, insisting on chattering while he put on his flight gloves. “There`s a chance there are survivors hiding in the forests,” he offered, “it would be foolish to stay in the settlements.”

“Don`t you have a ship to fly?” Jean asked him.

Armin left the room without a word. A few minutes later, they felt the engines rumbling.

“Jean, I hope you know you`re really rude,” Sasha said mildly.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Serroco was hot, wet and rainy. Its cities were made of tall skyscrapers that reached the sky. It was also filled with people, a somber contrast to Cathar. Armin wondered if he would ever see a dry planet again.

 “Civilisation!” Connie breathed, grinning at the sight of the city as they received clearance to land. The cockpit was suddenly very crowded, with everyone but Levi clambering to get a look at the city as the ship descended into the hangar, which was located underground due to the frequent tornadoes that plagued the planet.

“OUT!” Armin yelled, struggling to concentrate on the instruments he needed to get the ship landed safely.

Everyone departed but Eren, who was sitting in the seat next to him. Levi hadn`t left his room since they had left Cathar, and Armin hadn`t visited him, worried the Jedi would make the connection, though, since Jean knew, he resigned himself to the fact that  it would be a matter of time before everyone else figured it out.

 “It`ll take around an hour before we can leave the ship,” Armin told Eren as they watched layers and layers of buildings lazily disappear above them.

“That`s cool,” Eren said, leaning back in his seat.

“I think we should split up,” a voice said behind them. They both jumped, Armin giving an embarrassing yelp.

“Captain Levi!” Eren said, obviously surprised. He tried turning in his seat to face him.

“Don`t bother,” Levi said irritably. He pointed at Eren. “You and Mikasa are going to come with me to speak to the Republic forces already stationed here. We are going to tell them the situation and give suggestions for moving forward.” Eren nodded.

“You,” Levi continued, pointing at Armin, “are going to stay on board with Jean until we get back.”

“Why?” Armin asked dully, staring at the flight monitor that told him how much further the dock was, watching the numbers slowly fall.

 “I don`t want a Mandalorian walking around, causing a panic.”

“What if I told you I`m not Jean`s babysitter?” Armin asked, deciding to push his luck.  
Eren snorted.

“You`ll do as you`re told, you little shit,” Levi said, turned on heel, then left. Eren burst into laughter. “What was that?” he asked.

“The guy`s an asshole, he knows I can`t stand Jean,” Armin said, grumpily watching the monitor.

“Yeah, but why did he let you talk to him like that? It`s the first time I`ve seen anyone address him like that.”

“I guess I just have that kind of face,” Armin sighed, not happy with the situation but resolving to suck it up.

 They landed, and within the hour the only ones left on the ship were Armin and Jean. Sasha and Connie weren`t restricted to the ship, so they decided to explore the area around the docks. “If you get lost, don`t expect me to come looking for you,” Jean had grumbled to them.

Armin had put himself on the defensive, expecting an interrogation from Jean now that they were alone. He sat in the crews` quarters with Jean, a holorecord in hand, trying to ignore the other.

“You know,” Jean told him after a few minutes, “if you don`t wipe that scowl off your face, it`ll be stuck there forever.”

Armin didn`t bother replying, not taking his eyes off the holorecord he was reading.

 “You don`t have to be in the same room as me, you know,” Jean continued. Armin idly wondered what it would take to get him to shut up. He brought up pictures of Tatooine, scrolling through pictures of the desert, paintings of Sand People enclaves. He could feel the language on the tip of his tongue, buried somewhere in his memory, weary from lack of use.

“So, how did you kill the Jedi? Bet her bounty paid for this ship.” Jean`s voice drawled through Armin`s mind, sliding across every nerve he had.

“You know,” Armin said, casually sliding to the next picture, “you`re a fucking pain.”

He saw Jean grin from the corner of his mind. “Knew there was a sense of humour in you somewhere. You`re not very funny, though.” He stretched out on his bunk.

 “You miss Tatooine?” he asked. Armin was nearing his last nerve. “No,” he replied, sliding to the next picture. A krayt dragon, famed for their pearls. His father had always been worried Armin would get it into his mind to try hunting one. It had been a baseless worry, Armin was never so bored that he`d turn suicidal.

“Huh,” Jean said, “I miss _my_ homeworld.” Armin didn`t ask where that was, choosing instead to read what he already knew about krayt dragons.

_Krayt dragons are the ultimate prey for hunters working from Anchorage. They live far from human settlements, preferring the dunes. Their pearls are sought, both as a trophy and as components for a Jedi`s lightsaber…_

 “Did you hear that?” Jean suddenly asked, breaking Armin`s careful concentration. “No,” he replied, returning to his reading.

“No, I really heard something,” Jean said, sitting up, a look of horror on his face.

“What is it?” Armin asked, but then he heard it. A distant boom.

“Get down!” Jean yelled, throwing himself flat on the bunk, covering his head, Armin following suit as the entire ship abruptly started shaking with a violence he had never before experienced. The ship`s alarm system went off, the loud ringing enhancing the shock of the shaking.

It lasted for around a minute before it stopped, Armin leaping up and turning off the alarm system.

Another alarm sounded outside, along with the muffled sound of distant screams, the crashes of falling debris.

 “Fuck,” Armin muttered, racing to the cockpit. He opened the blast shield to see their way out mercifully clear. 

“Jean, get in here,” he yelled, jumping into his seat and starting up the engines.

“Shit,” Armin muttered as he heard another boom in the distance, bracing himself as the ship lifted from the ground. Jean just made it to the co-pilot`s seat before the shaking started once again, Armin`s hand on the alarm button.

“Won`t we get hit by the debris?” Jean yelled as he held on to his seat.

“I`m hoping the shields will take care of that,” Armin replied, trying to stay calm as they quickly rose through the buildings which were collapsing around them. He pulled on his flight gloves, trying to stop his hands from shaking.  

“Come on, come on,” he muttered to his ship.

 After what seemed like a lifetime they cleared the buildings and made it to the surface of the planet, and Armin found that the lump that had been in his throat very suddenly made him want to retch.

“No,” Jean gasped, his eyes wide as they witnessed the carnage before them: an army bearing down on the planet; a city turned to glass.

 The fires were reflected in the molten mass of the city that once was, superheated, reflected in the eyes of those that could still see.

“The Mandalorians,” Armin choked. “They`re here.”

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just want to say that this is the first time I`ve ever been able to write this much for one story, and it`s all because of the wonderful support I`ve received from you guys! So, thank you so much for reading, I appreciate each and every kudos, reblog and comment, and would never have gotten this far without them!  
> That said, feel free to comment and kudos! We're nearing the end of part 1.  
> Hope you enjoyed the chapter!  
> I`m available on tumblr!  
> http://crashes-to-desktop.tumblr.com/


	11. Handmaiden

Historia wondered if stupidity was a requirement to join the Republic Senate as she resisted  a yawn for the third time in the past five minutes, the droning in her ears almost lulling her to sleep. She didn’t mind, it was a part of her role. Stand around and look pretty. Serve the Queen. Speak when spoken to.

She filled the role with grace, her hair softly cradling her face, the emerald of her veil caressing the top of her head, draping down elegantly, contrasting pleasantly with her fair hair. Her make-up had been applied with precision, demure enough to escape notice, but bold as to please the eye if someone perchance caught her gaze.  A pretty little decoration, there to serve her Queen.

“The reality of the situation is that there is something more behind this threat than a simple invasion,” the representative of the Jedi said for what felt like the hundredth time. He was a wheezing old man, his lax arguments in constant interruption by his own coughing. Historia half wondered if it was meant to be an insult to send this man as a representative of the Jedi. Maybe they had more defectors than they had anticipated.

The man droned on while she listened with one ear. The verdict had been decided before the old man even opened his mouth. There was no way for the Republic to back down, no matter what the Mandalorian threat was hiding. They could take it one step at a time. They had to.

Her hands itched for something to do. It was ridiculous that they had to waste all this time on the niceties for these Jedi who couldn’t give a damn if the Republic were to be invaded. Ah, there is was. Incentive to care. It was too far for her to worry. That was someone else’s job, always someone else’s job. Her job was apathy. She fell into the role with ease, repeating it day after day, until she woke one morning to find that she cared for very little. There was little reason for a decoration to care.

A nudge at her side. A serving girl, slightly older than she, whispering about some trouble or the other in the kitchen. Not her problem.

“The Jedi firmly believe that wasting troops will exhaust resources. The Force…”

Another nudge. Historia inclined her head to the servant. “What?” she asked pointedly.

“M’lady, there’s big trouble, and I can’t see a way to solve it.” The servant was causing a ruckus now, as people took their attention off the Jedi and began to direct it towards the pair. Historia threw an anxious look at the First Handmaiden, who gestured at her to go. She stood swiftly, curtseyed, and vacated the room as swiftly as she dared.  

She made a face as the door closed behind her.

It wasn’t that she didn’t like politics, she mused, biting her lip as she made her way to the kitchens, but it was that this war was pretty black and white to her. The Jedi cried about injustice and right and wrong, yet when faced with a clear black and white conflict they preferred to stay in the grey?

She was pondering this, when she opened the door to the kitchens and immediately noticed that they were empty, which was not a good thing, but before she could cry out, the world turned dark and she felt her consciousness slip.

 

* * *

 

 

She woke before she opened her eyes, kicking herself for being so stupid as to getting herself kidnapped. She moved her wrists experimentally, to find they were bound tightly together. Of course. She furrowed her brow slightly. The servant who called her over must’ve been in on it. It must’ve been easy. Slip them a few credits and servants were putty in the briber’s hands.

A voice rang throughout the room, loud and confident. “Ah, you’re awake, Blondie.”

She opened her eyes, surprised to find she was free to see. She winced at the light in the room, trying to catch a look at her kidnapper. Tall, dark skin, brown hair. A woman.  She blinked, her eyes adjusting. A smattering of freckles dusted her captor's cheeks.

The woman took a step forward and, without any regard towards personal space, leant right in front of Historia’s face. She could feel the other woman’s breath on her face.

“Good thing we got here now, you woke up sooner than I expected,” she said matter of factly, before straightening up.

Historia glared at her, but didn’t say anything. The woman smirked.

“So, we’re at a bit of an impasse. I was promised your queen, but was given the handmaiden. What’s your name?”

Historia didn’t answer, instead choosing to look over her captor. She was dressed in simple brown cloth that almost blended with her skin and wore a heavy belt at her hips, a blaster hanging off it. Her hair was pulled back into a messy bun at the nape of her neck, freckles scattered over her neck, hiding into her shirt. Her sleeves were pulled up to reveal a shock of freckles splashed over her arms, which were crossed in front of her. Historia couldn’t place her appearance or her accent, which meant…

The silence between them hung loudly between them. Historia took the opportunity to attempt to discern her location. A small room. Brown. A wooden table and single chair sat in the corner of the room, next to a door of simple wood. Not on a ship then. Were they off planet? How long had she been out for?

The silence stretched out as Historia let her rebellion be known. Instead of being annoyed, her captor smirked.

“You know,” she began, “this quiet thing is cute, but it isn’t going to help you. It’s fairly obvious you aren’t the queen.” She paused, tapping her foot on the floor, suddenly irritated. “And why would you be?” she continued. “Who the heck would think a queen would sort out a servant scuffle in the middle of her own meeting?”

Historia privately agreed with her captor, but commenting on the carelessness of the servant did nothing for her situation at the moment. She shifted, testing her restraints.

“Uh-uh, you aren’t getting out of those till I say so.”

“And when will that be?” Historia asked, her voice hollow.

“Oh, so the little handmaiden does have a voice,” her smirk only grew bigger. “You should use it more often, it suits you,” she suggested, grinning at Historia’s smile.  She gestured to Historia’s bindings.

“You’ll get out of there when I get the information I need.”

“Information?”

“Yes, information. I’ve been out of the loop for a while, and I need information on what’s been going on.”

“So you choose to take it from the Queen of Alderaan?” Historia asked incredulously.

“Hey, I needed a reliable source,” she replied, her eyes glinting. Historia waited, not intending to answer anything to this stranger.

“Why is that Jedi meeting with the Queen?”

That took her by surprise. The meeting was common knowledge. “Who are you?” she asked in response. The woman looked taken aback, but recovered quickly. “I’m Ymir,” she replied. “Now, answer the question.” It was an order.

“Alderaan is concerned about the Mandalorians. The Jedi refused to help. They’re negotiating.”

 _Why am I telling her this?_ She thought, suddenly panicked. The atmosphere in the room had suddenly changed, and she was suddenly overwhelmed by claustrophobia.  

“How many Jedi have joined the Republic?”

 _No, no, **no,**_ she thought desperately.

“Enough to make the Jedi scared and the Republic brave.”

The room was caving in. She was going to vomit.

“What did you do to me?” she spat.

“Nothing permanent. What do you know of the Mandalorians?” she pressed. Historia looked up at her, and cold realisation hit her in the gut like a block of ice _. Eye contact_.

“They’re monsters,” she said, her voice drained of emotion. The pressure suddenly released, and Historia could breathe again.

Her captor grew amused. “That so, Princess?” she asked, standing. Historia jumped as Ymir walked around her, not relaxing when she felt her bindings being cut free.

“You have a name, Princess?” Ymir asked her.

“Krista,” she replied.  

“Nice to meet you, Princess Krista. I’m Ymir,” Ymir said.  
“I already knew that,” Historia replied, a little irritated. “Are you letting me go?”

Ymir let out a short laugh. “Sorry hun, but I need leverage, and you’re right in front of me.  Gift wrapped and everything.” A bag landed on her lap.

“Get dressed in that and we’ll be off. Don’t take too long, Princess.”

“I’m not a princess,” Historia said, bordering on peeved now. She looked up at Ymir when she didn’t receive a reply. Ymir was pushing the chair back into position next to the table.  
“Huh, you don’t say?”

Historia felt a flash of hope. “So you’ll take me back?” She earned a laugh for that.

“Nah, I think you should stay around for a while. See the galaxy, live a little.” Historia was nonplussed. “I don’t understand,” she finally said. Ymir just shrugged. “You’re not supposed to,” then gestured at the bag. “Get dressed, you can't wander around dressed like a Coruscant diner sign. We leave in five.”

She heard the door close behind her. Seeing no other option, she opened the bag and pulled out a beige shirt, a veil… hand wrappings. _Wait…_ her eyes narrowed. _It couldn’t be…_

Why on earth did Ymir want her to walk around as a desert dweller??  

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *updates after 500 million years*  
> I am so sorry this kind of just lay in hiatus for like 6 months, life got hectic, I got writer's block then shit happened, but this never left my mind and I was thinking of story things for it and kicking myself every single day for not updating, and this chapter is so short it hardly feels like a comeback  
> BUT I am planning on making updates a regular thing again, so yay? I apologise for the horrific writing in this chapter, in all likelihood I'll come back to it, but I just wanted to put it up NOW so that it actually happens. I feel really rusty, and I don't think it helps that I've never written Ymir before, so once again, so sorry for that and I think future chapters will be better (and will actually arrive within the next week and not year)  
> Sooooo, anyone see the new Star Wars movie? What did y'all think??  
> Kudos and comments are still appreciated, even if they're for shouting at me, you guys are the ones who get writers like me to actually finish shit.


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